


The Only Animal

by BrighteyedJill



Series: The Only Animal [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableist Language, Begging, Dehumanization, Double Penetration, Except maybe wait 70 years and everything will probably be okay then, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, Hallucinations, Horrible Decisions, Humiliation, Isolation, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Psychological Torture, Sexual Coercion, Victim Blaming, mild body horror, mindfuckery, no happy ending, thoughts of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra may have kept Bucky alive after he fell from the train, but it's not entirely clear what they want from him. While he plots his escape, Bucky has to find a way to hold on to a little piece of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [the poem](http://thisiscommonplace.org/tag/franz-wright/) by Franz Wright.
> 
> Originally written for [this Hydra Trash prompt](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1504.html?thread=2443232#cmt2443232). Many thanks to Trash Chat for their constant encouragement, and jaune_chat for making my words better.

Bucky had fought, at first. Of course he had. Even with the stump of his arm throbbing, even when struggling restarted the bleeding, even when he grew lightheaded from the pain, he’d made them pay for every time they touched him. 

It made no difference. 

Every day, twice a day, so regular he used it to keep track of time, they dragged him out of his cell, took him to a brightly lit, white-tiled room, held him down, and raped him. The only part of the routine that varied was the particular Hydra soldier splitting Bucky open on their cock. 

The first time they’d brought him to the room, he’d been expecting torture. He’d faced capture before, and he held his name, rank, and serial number ready behind his teeth in case he couldn’t stay silent. But when they stripped him and pinned him on his belly, when two men held his legs apart and a third lay down on top of him, he discovered a level of fear even Zola hadn’t uncovered. The soldier pushed his cock into Bucky, heedless of his screaming and thrashing, as if the man’s body were a weapon: a strange, particularly messy instrument of torture to open Bucky up and make him bleed. 

They didn’t ask him any questions. 

He fought harder when the soldiers began using vaseline to slick the way, even though it made the pain almost bearable. The day that one of the soldiers—the skinny, rat-faced one—fucked Bucky with two long, bony fingers until his cock was painfully hard and leaking against the tile, Bucky summoned up his waning strength and fought wildly right through his orgasm. No one took any notice of his struggles. 

The routine lost its novelty after a few weeks. Bucky thought it was a few weeks; beneath his dirty bandages, the sutures in what was left of his arm had begun to heal. Even though Bucky still felt a stab of panic each time they pinned him on his belly, he couldn’t muster the same outrage that had fueled his struggles at the beginning. He didn’t want another squid soldier to kneel behind him and slide his cock into him as easily as holstering a gun. He didn’t want to smell their sour sweat as they pounded into him, or hear their ugly grunts of effort as they picked up speed. He didn’t want to feel their warm jizz sliding from his stretched-out hole. Then again, he didn’t want to sleep in a musty pile of straw and eat bread and beans twice a day. He didn’t want his left arm to be missing. He didn’t want Steve to think he was dead. He had no power to change any of those things. Nothing he did made any difference. 

One morning, Bucky didn’t fight. He lay still and gritted his teeth while Hydra goon number eight—the one with a scar on his chin—humped into him. Afterwards the soldiers tugged him to his feet as usual and hauled him back to his cell. Bucky tried to feel defeat, or shame, or anger, but he couldn’t quite muster the energy. 

That night, when they dragged him into the white-tiled room, a man in an officer’s uniform was waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

Both guards let go of Bucky to salute, leaving him to catch himself or fall as he chose.

“Hauptmann Müller,” said the one with the gap between his front teeth. His eager grin seemed too bright, even in the glare of the lights.

“Yes, bring him in.” Müller gestured to the guards before returning his attention to Bucky. “It is lovely to finally meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

This was the first officer Bucky had seen since he’d been here: normally the men were rank and file Hydra who never spoke to him and barely acknowledged his presence beyond holding him down and fucking him. This man, though, knew his name, and he smiled as he looked Bucky up and down, seeing a naked and apparently docile captive. 

Bucky felt a sudden jolt of panic, as if he’d been caught doing something terrible. 

When the guards pushed him forward, Bucky jabbed back with his elbow, catching a guard in the face. Another soldier kicked Bucky’s legs out from under him. Failing to catch himself with an arm that was no longer there, Bucky tumbled to the floor. The first guard, now sporting a bloody mouth, tackled him and pinned him to the floor with his superior weight.

Müller stepped neatly across the room, his shined-up boots gleaming in Bucky’s vision. “You have been so good lately, Sergeant Barnes. I had hoped we were through with this childish behavior.” 

The man Bucky had hit hastily undid his fly and thrust messily against Bucky’s ass until he found his mark. The moment of penetration hurt, as it always did, the brutal push of something foreign taking control. Bucky screamed wordlessly and threw his weight back, trying to unseat the man. The other guards quickly huddled around to press Bucky into the floor and quell his struggles. 

“What do you hope to accomplish? Nothing you can do will hurt us, not really.” Müller said. Bucky felt a moment of grim satisfaction at the memory of blood on the guard’s face, but his gratification melted away as the man stabbed his cock in Bucky with bruising force. 

“On the contrary,” Müller continued, “You will only bring consequences upon yourself.”

Bucky had thought he’d known from consequences when his smart answers to the Hydra guards at that factory got him marched down to the isolation wing to be Zola’s lab rat, but Steve had come for him, then. No one was coming for him anymore. He was dead, as far as they knew, and even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t be a soldier anymore, not if he wasn’t able to hold his rifle. Bucky pulled in a sharp breath and thought how easy it would be to give in, how little it would matter in the grand scheme of things. 

Then Müller’s boots passed through his vision again on his circuit around the room. His perfectly precise Hydra uniform. His proud posture. His casual superiority. Bucky thought of every base he and the Howlies had raided, killing bastards just like this. These men were the enemy. Bucky had spent most of the war risking his life trying to stop Hydra, dodging their bullets and bombs and watching his friends fall and not get back up. They were the enemy, and Bucky was providing aid and comfort by lying down and taking in. 

With Müller strutting around the room watching him like an animal in a zoo, Bucky couldn’t bear to be seen giving in without a fight. 

Ignoring the reverberating pain of being reamed open, Bucky gathered his strength and fought. He screamed and bucked, tried to kick the men who held him. He pulled the stump of his left arm free for a moment, but it was pinned down against immediately. He freed his ankle from a soldier’s grip, but only succeeded in cracking his knee against the slick tile. He tugged his hand loose only to have it knelt on unceremoniously.

In the end, his defiance achieved nothing. When the man he’d hit earlier pulled out and shot his come against Bucky’s ass, Bucky finally let himself go limp. He’d proved whatever it was he needed to prove, and now they would take him back to his cell and leave him to think of nothing. 

But tonight, no one made a move to open the door or pull Bucky to his feet. Instead, Müller lowered himself to a crouch before Bucky. He wore a polite smile. “You must give up this charade of resistance, Sergeant Barnes. It is the only way we can move forward together. Things will be so much more pleasant once we understand each other.” 

Müller pushed to his feet and nodded to someone behind Bucky. The soldiers traded places. A new one—Bucky didn’t see who—knelt behind Bucky and began unbuttoning his pants. Bucky tried to pull away, but had put all his energy into his previous struggles, and so he barely moved in his captors’ grip. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Twice a day; that was all Bucky had to endure. He’d proven he hadn’t given up, and that was all he needed to do today. That was all he was capable of doing today. Still, in defiance of all Bucky had come to understand, another man was settling his naked cock against Bucky’s come-spattered ass.

“Give in, Sergeant Barnes,” came Müller’s voice from somewhere behind him. “It will be better for you, in the long run.”

Bucky shook his head frantically as the new soldier fed his dick in inch by inch. The way was slicked with lube this time, and Bucky had already been fucked wide open, so it barely hurt going in. Still, the sting of injustice gave Bucky a burst of energy. He thrashed against the tile while the man rode him. 

“Who is it you are hoping to impress, Sergeant Barnes?” Müller asked. He sounded genuinely curious. “We have already captured you. You have lost the fight. There is no one here to see your pretense.”

The soldier slammed hard against Bucky and groaned as he emptied himself into Bucky’s ass. He stood up and switched places with the soldier holding Bucky’s left leg. 

“Nn…” Bucky stopped his protest before it was fully formed. Protesting was a short step away from begging, and Bucky would not do that. Would not.

“You realize the point I am making, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller crossed into his vision against, a long dark column against the shining white tile that swayed in Bucky’s vision as he gulped in panicked breaths. “As long as you continue to struggle, you must be disciplined. You only need to stop fighting, and this will end.”

It was a trick, Bucky reasoned, as the next man stuffed his cock into Bucky’s raw and swollen hole. If he exhausted his strength to prove some kind of bull-headed point, then he wouldn’t be able to attempt escape. He didn’t care what these squid bastards thought of him. They were trying to mess with his mind, to find more excuses to hurt him. Bucky was a practical man. His pride didn’t choke him the way Steve’s did. If he could get them to stop hurting him, he could conserve his strength and be in better shape to look for a way out. Wasn’t that worth sacrificing a little dignity?

When the next man pulled out of his ass with a wet squelch, Bucky went limp. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the next man pushed in, but he did not struggle. He thought of the snowy woods on a moonlight night, quiet except for the distant thud of bombs dropping to earth. The guard finished inside him, adding to the overflowing mess. 

“Very good, Sergeant.” Hauptmann Müller gestured to the guards, who lifted Bucky onto unsteady legs. Müller patted Bucky on the unbandaged shoulder and favored him with a bright smile. “I am pleased with your progress, Sergeant Barnes.” As Bucky followed one of the guards out of the room, he could hear Müller speaking to another soldier. “See that he is given a blanket and something warm to eat.”


	3. Chapter 3

After that, Müller attended the sessions daily. Sometimes he was accompanied by a man in a white coat who took notes on a clipboard, and other times he came alone. Once in a while he skipped the morning or the evening, but he put in an appearance at least once each day.

“Why do you let them hurt you more than necessary?” Müller asked after a soldier had fingered a writhing Bucky to orgasm one morning. 

Bucky jerked away reflexively from the current soldier’s touch as he slid into Bucky’s ass, loose and relaxed in the wake of his climax. Bucky strained against his captors’ hold, as if he could somehow get far enough away to evade the man moving inside him. 

“You understand by now how the rules work. You have the power to make them stop, Sergeant Barnes. Cease your struggling, and it can be over,” Müller said as the man finished inside Bucky and slid out in a wet, slick rush. “It makes me wonder if perhaps there is something about this treatment that you enjoy.”

Bucky turned Müller’s logic over in his mind, but couldn’t find any flaws. What possible purpose could he serve by inviting more torture? When the next man knelt behind him, Bucky made himself relax against the unforgiving floor. He let his eyes drift shut as the man plowed into him through the mess his fellows left, and without trying, his mind went blank. 

Bucky had thought he might have to work to hold himself still rather than fight his captors, but surrendering turned out to feel surprisingly natural.  
\--

That night, sleeping on the thin pallet they’d brought him, Bucky dreamt of Steve Rogers. His face swam above Bucky, hazy as it had been in Zola’s lab. “What have they done to you?” Steve touched his fingers to the bandages obscuring the stump of Bucky’s left arm. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Bucky tried to follow, but Steve kept disappearing around corners in the labyrinth of corridors that made up the facility. Finally, Bucky jogged after him into a familiar white-tiled room. Steve, 98 pounds and bleeding from a split lip, stood surrounded by a dozen soldiers in full Hydra battle gear, faces invisible behind their helmets. He raised his fists and lunged at a soldier, who disappeared into a column of smoke, like a desert mirage. Steve whirled, looking for another target. As he charged, one of the Hydra soldiers stuck out a leg to trip him, and he went sprawling onto the hard ground with a pained grunt, face-first into the tile, the way Bucky spent so many hours. 

“Aren’t you going to help him?”

Bucky turned to see Steve, a hundred pounds heavier and thick with muscle, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “I thought you’d at least try.” Steve nodded towards Bucky, who looked down to see Steve’s painted shield strapped to his arm. “Was I wrong about you?”

Bucky tried to lift the shield, but it slid off his arm and fell away, down into a snowy abyss that seemed to stretch forever. 

Bucky jolted awake, sweating, with his heart jumping wildly in his chest. For once, he was thankful for the total darkness that hid him as he sat with his knees to his chest and arm wrapped around his legs. 

While he waited for the guards to come for him, he imagined what Steve would have done if he were in this cell. Never mind the fact that he probably would have broken himself out already, along with anyone else being held in this godforsaken place. Steve certainly wouldn’t have let Müller talk him into trading his dignity for relief from pain. He would have held out.

Bucky could do that. Surrendering once didn’t mean he’d given up entirely. He would fight, he decided. He would show them what he was made of. 

Müller sighed when they dragged Bucky in, already struggling. “I am disappointed,” he said. “I really thought we had moved past this, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky didn’t bother throwing back a smart answer, though he felt sure he could have come up with one if he tried. Instead, he held tight to his anger. If he could summon up half the righteous fury of Steve Rogers starting a fight in a Brooklyn back alley, he could take everything they threw at him. 

He squirmed in the guards’ grip so viciously that two men had to pin him down to hold him still enough for the third man to shove his dick in. It hurt, just the same as it had the first time. The pain helped him sustain that tiny spark of defiance he’d kindled from the memory of Steve. 

After the three guards on duty had spent themselves inside Bucky, they switched out for fresh soldiers. The first of these slathered his cock with lube, which was hardly necessary considering the working over Bucky had already been given. He tugged Bucky up onto his knees, and other soldiers held Bucky firm as the man pulled at Bucky’s cock. Something in the rhythm or the angle of the man’s thrusts turned raw pressure into jolts of pleasure that tingled through Bucky’s veins, challenging his resolve. 

“It is your decision how long this goes on,” Müller reminded him, voice infuriatingly reasonable. 

There was something unfair about that statement, Bucky knew, but he couldn’t concentrate on puzzling it out with arousal building like a storm cloud as the guard rocked into him in time with his tugs on Bucky’s aching cock. Bucky threw his weight to the side and succeeded in loosening the grip of the man holding onto his arm. Another man shoved Bucky back into place. He rocked back and tried again in the other direction, but only succeeded in banging the wrapped end of his severed arm into the chest of one of his captors. He was not even strong enough to provide an inconvenience, let alone a real challenge. They could do this all day. His struggles were barely noticeable to them. He could not win. He had never known what it felt like, not really, to give everything he had, everything he’d thought he’d been holding in reserve, and still fail.

The moment Bucky realized he was nothing like Captain America, his damp cheek was skidding across clean white tile as a Hydra soldier fucked him through his orgasm. 

He didn’t dream of Steve anymore after that.


	4. Chapter 4

Once each morning and once each evening, Bucky lay limp and un-protesting while a soldier fucked him and brought him off. Hauptmann Müller watched him with something akin to polite interest. Occasionally he ordered the soldiers to reward Bucky with a special meal or a new amenity for his cell. Bucky stopped counting the days, because knowing how long this had been going on set a cold lump of terror growing in his gut. 

“I’m happy to see how reasonable you’ve become,” Müller told Bucky one evening, as a Hydra soldier slid into Bucky’s lube-slick hole with ease. “Isn’t this much better?”

There were no longer three guards to escort Bucky. Two led him from his cell, and one kept watch while the other climbed on top of Bucky and performed his business. They switched for the evening session. Bucky no longer took note of which soldier in particular was using him: the one with the scar, or the one with big ears, or the one that smelled like pickles. It made no difference. 

One morning, Müller gestured to the guards as they entered, and they didn’t push Bucky to the ground right away. He sauntered over to stand before Bucky, wearing his characteristic cheerful smile. “Sergeant Barnes, I would like to make an adjustment to our schedule, if you are amenable. You’ve been making such excellent progress that I believe we may limit ourselves to one session per day. Would that be acceptable to you?”

Bucky stared at the far wall. He didn’t want to answer the question. He knew it was poisoned somehow, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Müller placed two fingers under Bucky’s chin and tipped it up until he looked Müller in the face. “It is your decision, Sergeant. Would you prefer we meet only once each day, or do you wish to maintain your twice-daily treatments?” Müller waited, hands behind his back. 

Back when this began, Bucky had decided not to say anything aside from his name, rank, and serial number. No taunts, no requests for his torturers to stop, no cries for mercy. He hadn’t always managed to remain silent, but wordless screams and cries did not count. They were unavoidable. That resistance, at least, he hadn’t yet relinquished. He didn’t have to do so now, only to respond to a question that was probably a trick. 

Müller stood looking at him with that same pleasant smile. Surely at any moment he would withdraw the question and inform Bucky of some new punishment. Bucky waited, but Müller continued to watch him with bland attentiveness. 

Bucky allowed himself to think, just for a moment, about what it would mean to only come to this room once per day. To endure just one violation and be finished. To not have to know, every moment, that he was never more than twelve hours away from being pushed to the floor and used. “One.” The word came out before he realized he’d opened his mouth, in a voice thick and raspy from disuse. 

“That’s the only intelligent choice, isn’t it, Sergeant Barnes?” Müller turned to walk back to his usual corner of the room, then stopped and looked back with a finger raised. “One more thing to discuss. My men have, as you can imagine, become used to being accommodated daily. Since we will be cutting back to one daily session, as you requested, we need to make certain we are meeting the needs of my men.”

Bucky couldn’t help a quick glance back at the two guards standing behind him. They were both grinning. 

“I do not wish you to feel you are being penalized, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller returned to stand by Bucky, and rested a hand on his shoulder as if he were a friend. “On the contrary, this change is meant to be a reward for your recent good behavior. It would be unfair for you to be sodomized twice in a single session when you are being so compliant. As an alternative, I suggest that the second attendant use your mouth instead. Would that be an acceptable compromise?”

Bucky didn’t look at the soldiers behind him again. He looked past Müller at the clean white tile of the far wall. He could feel the same cold smoothness under his bare feet. When he swallowed, he was aware of his lips, his tongue, the muscles of his jaw. 

“It is, of course, completely your decision.” Müller leaned in and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Before you answer, Sergeant, I suggest you thoroughly consider the nature of any objections you may believe you have.”

Burt Anderson, who’d gone through basic with Bucky, had once complained for the entire length of a ten-mile run that the red-headed prostitute he’d frequented in Queens has always refused to suck his dick, saying there were some things too undignified to do even for money. Now here was this smug squid asking Bucky to do that, making Bucky think he’d been offered a reprieve when it was really an excuse to hurt him another way. 

Anger flared somewhere far away, but Bucky could feel it only distantly, as if it were coming from the bottom of a pit somewhere in his stomach. Mostly, he felt empty. These men had already seen him lie down and let himself be fucked; they’d already been inside him. It made no difference, really, which hole they used. There might even be advantages: Bucky would be less sore, he might be able to bite one of them someday, he wouldn’t have to feel the mess of cold jizz leaking out of his stretched hole in the night. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” Müller raised an eyebrow at him, expectant.

Bucky folded to his knees. 

Müller nodded to the soldiers. One knelt behind him, as usual. The other came around in front of Bucky and lowered himself to the floor. That one tugged his half-hard cock out of his pants with one hand and wrapped his other hand around Bucky’s neck to pull him forward. With only one arm to brace himself, Bucky teetered awkwardly before finding his balance. Bucky had never been on the receiving end of this operation, so he wasn’t sure of the logistics beyond the basic principle of the thing. Still, the soldier didn’t seem to mind. The moment Bucky parted his lips, the man thrust in, stuffing Buck’s mouth with a thick column of flesh. 

“No teeth, Sergeant,” Müller said. “Just relax, and this will be over quite quickly.”

The man kept a hand on Bucky’s neck, rocking him forward gently to slide the tight ring of Bucky’s lips across his length. He closed his eyes and tried to remember being somewhere else, anywhere else, but the memories wouldn’t come. 

Behind him, Bucky felt the slick press of fingers at his entrance. Distracted by the stretch, he jerked forward, then choked as the cock bumped down into his throat. The soldier pulled back to let Bucky catch his breath, but the fingers didn’t stop their relentless slide. Tears prickled in Bucky’s eyes, a simple reflexive reaction to the choking. 

By the time the second man began fucking Bucky—deep, rolling thrusts that made his body clench with pleasure—he’d learned how to breathe through his nose while the man riding his face rocked shallowly into his mouth. 

“You are doing very well.” From the corner, Müller stood watching with a satisfied grin. “One might say you are a natural, Sergeant Barnes.”

The spark of anger that jumped at those words was snuffed immediately by more pressing concerns, like a general lack of air. To fend off his growing panic, Bucky tried to concentrate on the unimportant things—hard tile digging into his knees, itch of sweat beading on his shoulder beside the bandage, drip of water from the corner—rather than the details of what was being done to him—faint smell of piss from the soldier’s crotch, stinging stretch of his ass around the girth of a hard cock, persistent ache of holding open his jaw. 

Müller crouched beside Bucky and petted a hand through the tangled mess of his hair. “You know you have made the right decision.” His fingers traced down Bucky’s side, then across his ribs to close around Bucky’s neglected erection. The touch felt smoother, more delicate than the usual calloused grip of the soldiers that brought him off. “Now, you will determine when we will be through today. I leave the choice to you. Once you climax, these men will finish as well.”

Bucky tamped down the fear that welled up as his dick twisted in Müller’s hand. They’d never demanded that he come before, though they’d forced an orgasm out of him more often than not in the past weeks. With the soldiers battering him from both ends, Bucky couldn’t formulate any coherent thoughts. On the next thrust, his hips canted up into Müller’s grip. 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the shame that was in more danger of choking him than the soldier’s cock. Bucky was doing the right thing. He’d been over all the reasons a dozen times. He needed to keep up his strength to fight back. He would lull the guards into complacency. He wouldn’t give them an excuse to torture him further. This was a victory, even if it didn’t feel like one. He was in control, here. 

Müller squeezed Bucky’s cock just enough to send a jolt of desire spiking through the pain. “I understand you may be eager to prolong the session. I have read that true homosexuals receive pleasure through use of their mouth.”

Bucky choked as the soldier in front of him jabbed his cock further down Bucky’s throat. By the time he’d regained his breath, Müller was deftly stroking Bucky’s cock, swiping his thumb over the tip and sending shivers of arousal cascading through him. “Unfortunately, these soldiers do have other duties to attend to today, and are unable to spend as much time as you might wish.” Müller leaned closer so that Bucky could feel his hot breath against his neck. “It is all right to allow yourself this release, Sergeant. We have all seen you climax from this treatment on multiple occasions. What is the purpose of denying yourself? None of us will be surprised. No one else will see you. It will be our little secret.”

Bucky tried to hold back, tried to find some way to stop his body’s response, but he could not move, spitted as he was between the two bodies invading him and trapped by Müller’s relentless touch. He jerked against Müller’s hand as his orgasm burned through him, tightening every muscle and washing out conscious thought. 

Through the hazy aftershocks, he could feel the man behind him thrusting hard before burying his cock in Bucky one last time and clamping his hands on Bucky’s hips. The other soldier tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair to hold him in place. A salty spurt of thick, warm come hit Bucky’s tongue, then his throat as the man dragged Bucky further onto his cock. 

When he was finally released, he hit the ground sputtering, limp, and gasping for air. The tile felt blessedly cool against his hot skin. He’d succeeded. He’d taken everything they’d thrown at him and come through unscathed. Everything was going according to plan.

“You did very well today, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller wiped his hand on Bucky’s flank before pushing to his feet. “This calls for a reward, I think.”

After Bucky wobbled upright, they led him across the hall to another white-tiled room. For a moment, Bucky’s stomach churned. Müller had lied to him. It was all going to happen again. 

But no, one of the soldiers turned a handle that stuck out of the tile wall. Water dribbled and then sprayed from a nozzle further up. The other soldier gently pushed Bucky under the warm spray and held on until Bucky was steady on his feet. 

The water carried away the worst of the grime that had accumulated over weeks. It traced rivulets over naked skin as Bucky watched, mesmerized. The soldiers had brought soap and two cloths. Bucky held still while they scrubbed off another layer of filth: dirt, blood, and crusted semen. One soldier even swiped a soapy finger inside Bucky’s still-swollen hole to clean out the worst of the mess. Bucky didn’t look at them. He stood basking in the spray, still and obedient under their hands. If he hadn’t fought the rape, there was no reason at all to fight this. Things were still proceeding according to plan. He had chosen to submit to this, because it would be useful later.

When they brought in a straight-backed metal chair, Bucky’s stomach clenched again, wondering if he’d traded one torture for another. Instead, a doctor arrived pushing a cart. A soldier guided Bucky over and sat him down; he felt relaxed enough that didn’t even wince as his sore ass hit cold metal. When the doctor cut away the sodden bandages from his arm, Bucky looked away. He had no wish to see the evidence of what he’d lost in the fall. The doctor applied a sharp-smelling salve to the stump and wrapped it up again. 

Next came a bespectacled man with a barber’s kit. He whipped up a bowl of foam, applied it to Bucky’s bristly face, and shaved him with evident skill, leaving not a single nick. He combed the knots out of Bucky’s wet hair, but didn’t cut it. He didn’t speak to Bucky, and Bucky said nothing to him, just sat unresisting as Hydra’s men worked their will. 

When they led Bucky back to his cell, it occurred to him that this change in routine might be an opportunity. If they weren’t watching him closely, he might have a chance to run. He thought of Müller’s voice in his ear, of coming with two Hydra cocks in him, of waiting patiently while they bathed and treated him. He thought of reporting back to Steve, if he ever got free.

His hand went up to squeeze the wrapped stump of his missing arm, sending pain sizzling through his nerves. He followed the guards back to his cell. That night, he didn’t dream at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky had thought that enduring just one session with Hauptmann Müller’s men each day would make his life easier, but somehow the long stretches alone in his cell left him paralyzed with growing dread. He’d been here for weeks now, perhaps months. They hadn’t asked him any questions or even bothered to torture him. Müller and his men only seemed interested in his body. 

Only once did Bucky attempt to tally how many Hydra men had used him since his arrival. He threw up everything in his stomach and then dry heaved until his body ached. After that he avoided thinking about the sessions. 

Bucky could endure one hour each day, surely, without letting it affect him. What the soldiers did to him hurt, sometimes, but not in any lasting way. Or perhaps his body was simply adjusting. In any case, they gave him food, water, and blankets: everything a prisoner needed. 

One day, after he’d managed to suck cock without choking, they gave him clothes to wear: a US Army uniform. It fit uncomfortably, scratchy against his skin and far too large, but it covered his body and kept him from shivering in his stone-walled cell. 

Things were proceeding according to plan, he told himself every night when he lay down on his pallet to sleep. Müller was being lulled into complacency. Bucky just needed to wait for the right opportunity, and he would break out. Hydra had to be on the ropes by now, if Steve and the Howlies were still out there doing their job. It wouldn't be much longer. Bucky could last until then.

“Strip,” Müller instructed, when the soldiers brought Bucky to the white tiled room. 

Bucky took off the clothes they’d given him, painstakingly folding each piece and piling them neatly on the floor. He tucked in laces of the boots and then stuffed the socks inside, too. 

If Müller was annoyed by the stalling, he didn’t show it. Instead, he waited patiently until Bucky couldn’t think of any other excuse to delay and knelt in his usual spot. 

“You know, Sergeant, I believe these sessions have become somewhat tedious for you. Would you agree?”

Bucky stared straight ahead at the far wall. He wouldn’t answer any of Müller’s questions. He’d already slipped once and given away too much. He didn’t exactly regret having to face Müller only once each day, but now Müller knew Bucky would answer if he just asked the right question.

“I believe you are capable of more than what we have been doing here, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller stepped up in front of him, his boots, always perfectly shined, stark against the white tile. “As always, the choice is yours. If you wish to continue receiving the generous accommodations you have come to expect, we will need a show of good faith.”

Bucky clenched his teeth and called up his name, rank, and serial number. He had expected this from the start: questions, torture, threats. Now, at last, they were treating him like a strategic asset. He felt his body tense, ready for a fight.

“Now, now, it’s nothing unpleasant or objectionable.” Müller chuckled, as if anything unpleasant or objectionable would be a ludicrous possibility. “What we require is simple, Sergeant. If anything, it will reaffirm what you have already decided. You only need to ask for your daily treatment.”

For a brief moment, Bucky’s eyes darted to Müller’s face: the usual bland smile was still in place. Bucky wrenched his focus back to the wall in front of him.

“It needn’t be elaborate,” Müller said. “Perhaps, ‘please let me suck your cock.’ Anything along those lines will suffice. I leave the exact wording up to you. I’ve been told Americans value individual liberty quite highly.”

Bucky clenched his hand into a fist. He was kneeling naked in front of Hydra soldiers who had fucked him multiple times, had made him come while they fucked him, but he was not a willing participant. He did not enjoy what they did to him, and he sure as hell didn’t want it. It couldn’t be that they were keeping him alive just for this. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” Müller crouched to bring himself to Bucky’s eye level, though Bucky made a point of staring straight through him. “You must know by now that I have your best interests at heart. I suggest you think about what you will gain if you cooperate, and why you are so determined to resist.” Müller settled a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the bandaged one. The pressure didn’t hurt, as it would have weeks ago. It felt almost normal. “I have seen that you are a reasonable man, Sergeant Barnes. Is it so difficult to say some meaningless words? 

Bucky could cooperate. He could parrot what Müller wanted. In the end, the result would be the same. The words had no power, not really. He would do what his captors demanded, and save his strength. It wasn’t as if they wanted information. Only his body. And that didn’t matter; he could trade that in exchange for a chance to get out of here. 

Bucky gulped in a breath, but when he tried to speak, the air puffed out of him in a panicked exhalation. His fingers cut into his palm, and he realized he was shaking.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

He could not do this. He could not ask them to hurt him. If he agreed to do this, if he justified begging for Hydra cock, he couldn’t still be Bucky Barnes. He could never look Steve in the face again.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Müller prompted. 

Bucky’s eyes drifted to Müller’s face, his benign expression, his relentlessly pleasant smile. The soldiers saw his lunge coming even before Bucky moved. Müller dodged easily out of Bucky’s reach while the two soldiers tackled him. 

Bucky screamed and struggled while they took him, first one, then the other, both quick and rough. It felt good to fight, after so long not letting himself rebel. And at least this time the soldiers made no effort to get him off. Müller watched the whole operation from the corner of the room with a moue of distaste.

When they finished, they dragged Bucky to his feet. Müller strolled over to stand before him. “I am disappointed by your choice, Sergeant Barnes, but it is yours to make. I do suggest, however, that you thoroughly consider the consequences of your actions before the next time we meet.” Müller stepped aside and gestured to the door.

Bucky staggered into his cell when the guards shoved him. In the light from the hallway before the cell door closed, he had just enough time to register the changes.

Groping through the near-darkness, with only a strip of light from under the door to orient him, he tried to confirm what he thought he’d seen. His pallet and blankets were gone, leaving a bare stone floor. Along the opposite wall, he found a sizable pyramid of K-rations. He’d eaten enough of those in the dark watches of the night to be able to unwrap everything inside by touch, though it was harder with only one hand. His inventory of the top box revealed it was short its matches and cigarettes. It figured. Next to the pile of food, his fingers closed around a canteen. Liquid sloshed when he shook it. He counted eleven full canteens before stopping. In the corner by the drain, the covered bucket that served as a latrine had gained two companions. 

Bucky propped himself against the wall across from the door and waited. 

A guard would come with lunch in a few hours. Every day had been the same, and every day would be the same. He would eat, then sleep, and in the morning Müller would watch him kneel on the floor and come while taking two Hydra cocks, and he would be escorted back to this cell and he would not escape, because he hadn’t yet, hadn’t even tried, really. But he would not beg. He had not begged so far, and they couldn’t make him. He would wait and all of that would repeat itself. 

The guard never arrived. 

Bucky must have fallen asleep eventually, because he woke with a jolt and a crick in his neck from lying against the hard stone floor. Waking up always meant an immediate rush of cold anxiety, because his session in the while tile room was not far off. His empty stomach growled, but he didn’t dare eat anything until after they’d finished with him for the day. He had no way to tell time, of course, but the light shining under the doorway must mean someone was up and awake. 

The soldiers would be here soon. Bucky stared at the door and pressed his palm hard to the rough surface of the floor. They would come for him any moment. They wouldn’t leave him here alone.  
\--

Bucky allowed himself a sip of water when he woke up, before he went to sleep, and with each K-ration he ate. Before he ate, he always made sure he was truly, desperately hungry. There was no point in using up another K-ration if the soldiers were returning soon. He ate quickly and always returned to station himself across from the door. 

Any minute, he told himself again. The door could open at any moment, and when it did, he would rush into the corridor. They wouldn’t be expecting resistance. He could slam the door, maybe trap one of the guards inside, or crush a few limbs. That would be satisfying. He’d head to the right, away from the white-tiled room. That way had to be the exit. He would get a gun—a sidearm that he could hold in one hand, not a rifle—and he would shoot all of the soldiers who had touched him. He’d save Müller for last. 

Any minute.  
\--

Bucky could count on one hand the number of nights he’d slept in a room alone before coming here. Always there had been the mutters and snores of other soldiers, or Steve’s labored, whistling breath, or the intermittent crying of his youngest sister. And there’d been the clang and rumble of Brooklyn, or the motor-heavy purr of Camp McCoy, or at least the wind in the trees the night before the Howlies staged a raid. Never silence, not like this.

He pressed two fingers to his neck and tried to imagine hearing the pulse of his blood through his veins.  
\--

“Hello,” Bucky called for at least the hundredth time. His voice sounded harsh and weak. He clawed at the opening beneath the door, but only succeeded in scraping already-bleeding nails against the rough stone. “Hello?”

They could have abandoned the facility. Perhaps he was entombed here. Perhaps he had already died, and this was his punishment for what he let Hydra do to him. He leaned the stump of his left arm against the cold metal of the door. “Hello.”  
\--

Bucky tried to keep track of the days by stacking the empty tins from the k-rations in neat piles surrounded by the canteens. When he went to count them after he woke up, he couldn’t remember how many there were supposed to be. Surely the pile had been larger last night. The Hydra guards must have snuck into his cell and moved things. They were trying to trick him again. Perhaps the light from the hallway was also a trick. He couldn’t be certain that they shut it off at night. He couldn’t be certain of anything. 

His ragged fingernails were sharp enough to score his skin. He could try keeping track that way, maybe on his leg. But the marks might heal, the way all the little hurts from his sessions in the while tiled room healed, too soon. Or, if the guards saw what he was doing, they might try to prevent it. They’d already removed one limb. 

He stopped trying to count the days.  
\--

Bucky couldn’t breathe. His chest constricted, tight as if to squeeze his galloping heart into submission. He was going to die here, all because he was too proud to play along with Hydra’s games. He wouldn’t survive to get back to the Howlies; he would never be there again to watch Steve’s back or keep him from doing something stupid. He’d let them scare him, let them trick him into resisting so they could lock him up.

When he tried to push to his feet, his legs collapsed under him, dumping him back to the hard floor. He was going to die. They’d given him a chance to live, and he’d rejected it. He’d brought this upon himself. A sob caught in his chest, and he forced it down. He had to breathe.  
\--

“Bucky? It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Bucky raised his face from the filthy stone to see Sarah Rogers in her starched and pressed nurse’s uniform kneeling beside him. She was somehow clean, her apron pure white, even in all this mess. She stroked his forehead, brushing back his sweat-dampened bangs. 

“Shh. I’m here now.” She’d always had the best bedside manner, Mrs. Rogers. Loads better than Bucky’s own mom, who’d treated sickness like a deliberate shirking of duty. “You’re all right.”

Bucky pushed into her touch, feeling the warmth of her fingers against his damp temple. “Why?” the question pushed out of him, harsh in his throat. 

“Sometimes these things happen, darling boy. It’s nobody’s fault.” She patted his cheek. Her smile seemed sad. 

“Why?” he asked again. 

“Shh, you’re okay, James. You’re safe here.”

He could feel her arms around him, the same comforting strength that had soothed his hurts as a child whenever he couldn’t face going home. She rocked him against her chest, humming a tune he thought he knew but couldn’t name. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her shoulder. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. Listen to me, James.” She held him at arms length to look at him properly. She had Steve’s narrow, fine-boned face, his clear blue eyes. “Don’t be ashamed to do what you need to. There’s no one here to see you, sweetheart. No one who matters.”

“I can’t…” Bucky tried to draw in a breath, but it felt shallow and painful in his chest. “I’m not…”

“It’s okay to give in. You don’t have to be afraid.” She seemed so certain, as fully confident of herself as Steve had always been.

“Won’t it hurt?”

“You can take it.” She gave him a gentle shove in the chest, the kind she’d given him when he’d been a teenager, trying out his best charms to make her blush before he dragged Steve out for a night on the town. “You’ve done so well up until now. Keep going.”

Bucky looked away, couldn’t face her bright smile. “What if I can’t?”

“Oh, my darling boy.” Her touch turned cold. The burn of it spread out from where her arms encircled him. “I always knew what kind of man you’d turn out to be. This is where you belong.” The cold engulfed him, and he closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

The door swung open with a metallic shriek. From his sprawl on the floor, Bucky flung his arm up across his eyes to block the blinding glare from the bright lights in the corridor. 

A figure approached and tossed a bucket of water over Bucky. The cold sent a shock through him, an overwhelming jolt of sensation after an interminable period of nothing. As Bucky gasped for breath, the man said something in German that Bucky didn’t catch, and a laugh echoed in response. 

Bucky tried to push himself up on unsteady legs, but the soldiers ended up half-carrying him. Their warm hands on him felt hot as brands, each point of contact a searing pressure that nonetheless felt good enough to wrench a sob out of Bucky. 

Out of the close air of his cell, wet and naked, Bucky shivered. He watched the world through slitted eyes until the light stopped sending jabbing pain through his nerves. By the time they dragged him into the familiar white-tiled room, he could see clearly. The soldiers took up their usual position: one in front of him, one behind. 

“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller stood in the corner wearing his usual pleasant smile. “I am glad you have rejoined us. Is there something you wanted to say?”

Bucky slumped to his knees. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips. He tugged a damp strand of too-long hair out of his eyes. When he tried to speak, his words caught in his throat and turned into a cough.

“Oh dear, Sergeant. You have not been taking care of yourself. Allow me.” Müller lifted a small flask from the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. He crouched beside Bucky and settled his hand against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky pressed against that touch and closed his eyes as Müller set the mouth of the flask against Bucky’s parched lips and tipped it back gently, sending a slosh of smooth whiskey over his tongue. The alcohol, or perhaps the touch, sent warmth flooding through him. “There now. All better?”

When Müller pulled back and rose to his feet, Bucky tried again. The soldier in front of him wore boots polished to a high shine. If Bucky had been closer, he might have been able to see his reflection in them. He raised his eyes from the shiny boots past the crisp black uniform with its red insignia to the man’s murky blue eyes. 

“I…” Bucky rasped in a breath, let it out. “Can I suck your cock?”

The soldier’s eyes cut to Müller, who tsked. “Manners, Sergeant.”

Bucky looked at the boots. “May I please suck your cock.”

“Wenn du wilst.” When Bucky looks up, the soldier’s grin showed too many teeth.

“He says you may,” Müller translated, unnecessarily. 

Bucky waited, but the soldier stood smiling down at him, expectant. 

“You may proceed, Sergeant,” Müller prompted. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the soldier to Müller and back. He hadn’t thought past this step, beyond the hurdle of saying those first words. But now the worst should be over. The rest was nothing he hadn’t endured before. He couldn’t let them scare him by making this seem more difficult than it was. 

Bucky shuffled forward on his knees until he found himself directly facing a prominent bulge in the soldier’s uniform pants. One-handed, he struggled with the buttons. The soldier made no move to help him. Instead, he planted his hands against his lower back and tilted his hips up, as if to give Bucky unimpeded access. 

After a frustrating minute of fumbling, Bucky worked the two buttons free of their holes and tugged at the zipper until the cloth peeled open in a long vee, revealing the man’s shorts. 

Bucky’s eyes darted to Müller, who waved a hand at him. “Continue. You do not want him to change his mind.”

Bucky froze. He hadn’t realized that the soldiers he was meant to serve might not let him do what he needed to do. He might be sent back and locked away again. He couldn’t allow that. That didn’t fit with the plan. He had a plan, he felt sure.

The soldier pushed his hips forward impatiently. Springing back into motion, Bucky managed to pull the man’s shorts down far enough to position the elastic under his balls, freeing his erection. Bucky quickly opened his mouth and swallowed the man down before Müller could prompt him again. They couldn’t say he wasn’t complying. They wouldn’t have a reason to punish him. 

“Very good, Sergeant Barnes,” Müller crooned. So Bucky must be doing the right thing so far.

It felt very different from what Bucky was used to: bracing himself against an onslaught or going limp while the soldiers used him. This time, the soldier didn’t touch him at all. Bucky knelt, lips stretched wide around the bulk of the man’s cock, and didn’t know what else to do. 

“Go on, Sergeant.” Müller appeared at his side. “You know how to do this. Move. Yes, that’s the way.” Bucky pushed further down, taking another inch of the soldier’s cock into his mouth, then pulling back slowly. Müller hummed approvingly. “It will be your responsibility to learn the preferences of your handlers, in time. This will allow you to complete your tasks more efficiently. With practice, you will become an expert. If you do your work well, there will be no need for corrective action.”

Bucky stopped with his eyes closed. He tried to breathe through his nose and concentrated on keeping his jaw loose and open to accommodate the soldier’s cock. He couldn’t be sent back to his cell. He would go mad, and never escape, and he would die here. He had to stay alive. That was very important, though he couldn’t quite remember why at the moment. 

“Do you need assistance, Sergeant?”

Bucky opened his eyes to see Müller crouched beside him. He nodded carefully, mindful of keeping his teeth covered with his lips. 

“Look up at Gefreiter Lange,” Müller instructed. Bucky looked. “You must watch his reactions and see what he enjoys. Go on, take him deeper.”

Bucky eased forward, feeling Lange’s cock fill the back of his throat. The man let out a pleased sigh. 

“You see? This is good for him. You take note of what he likes, so you will be better next time. Now, move. Give him some stimulation, Sergeant.”

Bucky pushed down Lange’s cock and back again. Soon he’d found a rhythm that made Lange breathe heavily and every so often jerk his hips forward against Bucky’s face. 

“Very good, Sergeant. You may ask him to come where you like, though I cannot guarantee that Lange has the stamina for any elaborate requests.”

Bucky gagged on a too-fast swallow and had to pull back to breathe. He didn’t want to ask Lange for anything. He wanted this to be over. It would be over as soon as he finished. His choice. 

“Sergeant? He could come on your face, if you like,” Müller offered. “Or perhaps you would prefer to swallow his semen. I have heard that many homosexuals enjoy the taste.”

Bucky looked up at Lange, his erection standing tall and slick with Bucky’s saliva, his mouth curved up in a delighted grin. Bucky didn’t want to touch him ever again. He didn’t want to be sent back to his cell. He didn’t want to make any more choices. 

“Sergeant? Have you decided?”

What were the options Müller had suggested? Bucky could pick one of those. He was just parroting what they wanted to hear. None of this counted, none of it meant anything. “Will you come in my mouth?”

Lange shot a glance to Müller.

“Please,” Bucky added hastily. “Will you please come in my mouth.”

“Do you mind, Gefreiter?” Müller offered Lange a smile that looked almost apologetic. “He has been so well-behaved today, we should give him what he wants.”

“Wenn du darauf bestehst,” Lange shrugged. He looked down at Bucky. “Go ahead.”

Bucky took Lange back into his mouth. His jaw ached, and his eyes prickled with moisture every time Lange’s cock lodged in the back of his throat and threatened to choke him. He barely tasted it when Lange, groaning, shot his release down Bucky’s throat. 

When he was certain Lange had finished, Bucky pulled back, watching a strand of saliva stretch between his mouth and Lange’s spent cock. 

“Good, Sergeant,” Müller said. “You are doing very well. Now, just one more left.”

The other soldier stood watching Bucky with one corner of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. He’d taken his cock out and was drumming his fingers idly over the head.

Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed against the lingering bitterness on his tongue. He couldn’t be certain if this one was supposed to fuck him, or if they wanted Bucky to use his mouth again. If Bucky guessed incorrectly, he might be punished, and the plan was to avoid punishment. As a means to an end, of course. His eyes slid to Müller. 

“You are shy, Sergeant? Perhaps you should ask Unteroffizier Werner what he wants, yes?”

Bucky fixed his eyes to the floor somewhere beside Werner’s boots and said, “What do you want?”

“Oh no no no, Sergeant.” Müller stepped briskly between him and the soldier. “I thought you wanted to avoid being sent back to your cell. Was I wrong?”

Bucky curled his fingers into a fist as a blaze of panic fired through him. He wouldn’t let Müller trick him again, wouldn’t be goaded into useless resistance that would give them an excuse to hurt him. “No.”

“Then you must win him over, Sergeant. If Werner isn’t interested, we must terminate the session. If that is what you want, you will have ample time alone to consider your choice.”

Bucky’s jagged fingernails, broken from clawing at the stone floor of his cell, dug into his palm. He couldn’t survive that again, he knew with a dreadful certainty that weighed down his limbs and fixed him in place. The session couldn’t be terminated. Müller was giving him the chance to choose, and he wouldn’t be tricked again. 

“It is up to you, Sergeant,” Müller said. 

Bucky rounded his shoulders and pushed his fist against the floor for support. He could stick to the plan. He could be smart. It didn’t matter what these squid nobodies thought of him, as long as he survived. He gulped in a breath and made himself look at the wall just over Werner’s shoulder. “How do you want me?”

The soldier looked to Müller, then back at Bucky. “Mich reiten.” He pushed his pants down his thighs and settled onto the white-tiled floor with his back to the wall. His veined cock stood up prominently, blood-dark against his tan shorts. “Come here, liebling.”

Bucky tamped down the swirl of panic that threatened to rise up, and hobbled closer on his knees with the tile digging into his kneecaps. Balancing precariously with his hand braced against the wall, he managed to straddle Werner’s legs. This would hurt, he realized, as Werner’s warm cock nudged at his thighs. He’d never been taken in this position, but perhaps it wouldn’t be bad. At least he could go slow, control the speed. To get in position, he had to get right up to Werner, pressing his naked skin to the rough fabric of Werner’s uniform. 

Since no further instructions were forthcoming, Bucky lifted himself up and reached down to steady Werner’s cock to penetrate him. He wouldn’t give them a chance to accuse him of resisting. Werner smacked his hand away.

“No.” He said something rapid in German that the roaring in Bucky’s ears drowned out. 

“He says he wants you slick and wet, like a woman,” Müller translated in a pleasant voice that didn’t quite match Werner’s hungry tone. “Are you going to do what he wants, Sergeant? You don’t have to, you know. You can go back to your cell, if you prefer.”

Bucky could see Werner watching him from inches away, feel the body heat rolling off him and soaking into Bucky’s chilled skin. He didn’t want to be back in his cell alone. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want Werner’s breath hot against his bandaged shoulder, making him painfully aware of his body where it had frozen, suspended and shaking.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Müller leaned down to peer at him in apparent concern. “Would you like to go back to your cell now?”

“No,” Bucky said quickly. 

“No. You are a clever man. You know how to make a reasonable decision. But perhaps you need some help?” Müller put a knee down beside Bucky. He held an open glass jar in one hand. “Allow me to assist you.” 

Müller lifted Bucky’s hand by the wrist and dipped his fingers into the greasy petroleum jelly. Then he carefully bent Bucky’s arm back and underneath until the slick fingers nudged at Bucky’s entrance. Müller’s hand folded over Bucky’s, holding down his ring and pinky fingers and firmly guiding his pointer and middle fingers up until the breached the resistance of his hole and slid inside. Then he let go, leaving Bucky balanced with legs spread over Werner, and his only hand buried in his ass. 

“You may want to move your fingers, Sergeant,” Müller advised. “Loosen yourself up to achieve that wet sensation Werner asked for.”

Bucky tried to close his eyes, but found it too disorienting to balance without a hand free to catch him if he fell. He focused on the clean white tile instead. 

“Los. Ich helfe.” Helpfully, Werner wrapped his hands around Bucky’s hips, steadying him. The touch anchored Bucky, reminding him that this was happening: a real person held him. It didn’t matter that this man was a Hydra soldier, Bucky reminded himself. They’d all touched him before, hurt him, held him down, so Bucky couldn’t get bent out of shape over a gentle touch like this. He had to keep going. 

He pushed his fingers further inside, then pulled them out with a slick squelch, then back in as far as he could reach. This was good for the plan, anyway. If he could slick himself up well enough, he wouldn’t be injured, despite the fact that no one had fucked him in days and days, perhaps weeks, however long they’d left him locked up alone. This wouldn’t hurt much, and he might have a chance to escape. He fingered himself thoroughly, adding a third finger in preparation for Werner’s girth, and tried to ignore the warm comfort of Werner’s hands on him and the blood rushing to his cock. 

“I appreciate your dedication to your task. You must have been a very efficient soldier, Sergeant Barnes,” Müller said. 

He still was, Bucky thought. He was doing all this for a reason. He would survive. 

“It’s time to move things along now, yes?” Müller’s warm hand closed around Bucky’s cock, eliciting a surprised twitch. “Remember, Sergeant, it is important to let the soldiers know that you enjoy what they are doing for you. When you ask them to use you, they are doing you a favor, and you do not want them to think you are ungrateful. Therefore, you will need to climax while your request is being fulfilled.” He circled his thumb around the head of Bucky’s cock, teasingly light. “This is a kind of quid pro quo. A thank you to the soldiers for agreeing to use you as requested. Does that sound fair?”

Müller’s hand on Bucky felt wonderfully warm and solid, as pleasurable a touch as he could remember receiving. After so long alone, the stimulation was almost too much; he could barely process the Müller’s words with those long fingers stroking him. 

“Sergeant?” Müller asked. “You think I am being unfair?”

Bucky had to suck in a wavering breath before he could speak. “No.”

“We will proceed, then. Normally, it will be your own responsibility to see to your pleasure while you are being used. However, because you are being so cooperative, I am willing to provide some assistance today, if you would like. Do you want my help, or would you prefer to do it on your own?”

“Yes.” Bucky shivered at the thought of his own hand, clumsy and strange. His own touch barely felt real, but Müller’s fingers around him were undeniable. “You.”

“Manners, Sergeant,” Müller said with a slight tightening of his grip on Bucky’s cock.

“Will you please touch me.”

“Yes, I think I can manage.” Müller resumed his light, gliding touch down the length of Bucky’s hardening cock. “Now, are you slick and wet for Werner, the way he wanted?”

Bucky’s fingers slipped easily through the loosened ring of muscle. He’d done that; he’d prepared himself to be fucked by a Hydra soldier. It didn’t matter. It was all according to plan. He nodded. 

“Good. Go on, then. I’ll help you.” Müller released his grip on Bucky to dig those long fingers into the muscle of Bucky’s ass and spread him wide. 

Bucky groped beneath him until his still-slick fingers curled around Werner’s hard cock. Holding it steady, he lowered himself as slowly as he could. His spread cheeks made his slicked-open hole an obvious target. He squeezed his eyes closed as the weighty head of Werner’s cock breached him. 

He’d meant to pause then and give his body time to adjust, but his trembling legs wouldn’t hold him. Gravity dragged him down even as Werner speared into him. It hurt. The thick cock stretched and rubbed against places inside Bucky that hadn’t hurt when he’d been taken on his belly. It wasn’t fair that now, when he could move as he pleased, his body had found new ways to interfere with his careful planning. 

“You’re doing well, Sergeant.” Müller shifted his hands back to Bucky’s cock, and resumed his teasing ministrations. “Go on.”

Bucky forced his protesting muscles to move, pushing up the length of Werner before sinking back down to rest in his lap. He kept his eyes fixed on the tile behind Werner, but that didn’t mean he was deaf to Werner’s sounds of pleasure: throaty groans, garbled swearing, and labored breaths whose wet heat Bucky could feel against his face. It sounded so much like sex, like something Bucky used to enjoy. 

Müller’s hand worked over Bucky relentlessly, stroking him with ruthless skill. Crackles of pleasure sparked along Bucky’s nerves, tensing his muscles and making him clench against Werner’s invasive bulk. That made it hard to concentrate on his goal: to finish this, as quickly as he could.

It was more difficult than Bucky had imagined to ride Werner. His thighs screamed with each movement as he tried to lift himself. The arousal pooling low in his belly acted as a heavy weight, dragging him down and making every movement clumsy and slow. His knees, digging into the white tile, protested dropping his weight onto them. And worst of all, he was too close to Werner to avoid seeing and hearing how much he enjoyed what Bucky was doing. 

When Werner’s meaty hands squeezed Bucky’s hips, slamming him down on his cock, Bucky did not resist. He was supposed to want Werner to be satisfied, so this would be over, and he could come. No, he wanted to satisfy Werner. No, he wanted to come. No, there was a plan, and he wanted this to be over. 

“That’s it, Sergeant,” Müller said as he briskly rubbed Bucky’s cock. “You are close, now. Be sure to give it your best effort.”

Bucky slammed down frantically in shallow bounces on Werner’s dick that thrust him in and out of Müller’s grip until he balanced on the edge of his climax. He just needed to finish this. He had to give in, he had to let it happen. It wasn’t wrong to let them see him come this way. They’d already seen him helpless; they knew what he was. What did it matter. 

Müller’s hand twisted around Bucky until at last his legs gave out, dropping him down to writhe on Werner’s cock. He gasped for air as he came in ropey spurts against the dark fabric of the Hydra uniform. 

Bucky slumped forward against Werner’s chest as the man thrust up into him a few more times. He dug his fingers into Bucky’s ass as he came, filling Bucky with sticky semen. 

Müller gave Bucky’s sensitive cock a few more slow pulls, his warm fingers a comforting weight, before he released him. Bucky realized as he regained his breath that he still sat in Werner’s lap, impaled on his softening cock and with his arm slung around Werner’s shoulder. Quickly he pushed himself off on shaking legs and tumbled to the side, trembling and weak in the wake of his climax. 

Werner pushed to his feet and zipped up his trousers. Müller stayed where he was, watching Bucky with expectant alertness. “What do you say to Lange and Werner, Sergeant?”

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered, looking down at his softening cock, the naked body he’d just used to fuck two enemy soldiers to their satisfaction. 

“You do not sound very grateful.” Müller wiped his hand against his trousers and gave Bucky a pointed look. 

Bucky made himself look up at Müller, then at the other two soldiers. “Thank you for using me.”

“Good, good. Help him up.” Müller waved to the two soldiers. “It is time for a wash, I think.”

Lange and Werner held onto Bucky while he got his feet under him, and then led the way out of the room. 

Before Bucky could follow, Müller put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Sergeant Barnes, I understand this is difficult for you, but I want you to know you did well today. Truthfully, I admire your bravery.” He curled his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and looked quickly to the hallway, then back at Bucky. “Things will get easier for you here, if you continue to make smart decisions. Go on.” He let go of Bucky and watched as he followed the soldiers away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT PSA!
> 
> Please check out [the incredible fanart](http://feanorinleatherpants.tumblr.com/post/126868569055/out-in-the-wilds-of-the-hydra-trash-party#notes) of trash deity [feanorinleatherpants](http://feanorinleatherpants.tumblr.com), who illustrated a scene from this chapter when it was posted on the Hydra Trash meme last month. Behold feanor's amazing skill. [Behold. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanor_in_leather_pants/pseuds/Feanor_in_leather_pants)


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky got a shower and a shave (though still no haircut), a change of bandages, a set of fresh clothes, and an escort back to his cell, which had been restored to its former state of relative comfort. 

Despite the reappearance of his pallet and blankets, Bucky slept poorly. He found himself awake at what must surely have been an indecent hour, sitting across from the door and waiting. Perhaps he hadn’t done well enough. They might not come back. Müller hadn’t guaranteed anything; he’d only said things would get easier _if_ Bucky made the right choices. What if Bucky hadn’t pleased the soldiers? The panic in his gut had started to swirl and rumble when the door opened, revealing two soldiers there to begin the morning routine, and at last Bucky could relax. 

As Müller had promised, it got easier. Bucky learned the preferences of each of his handlers. Fischer liked slow, very wet blowjobs. Neumann wanted to fuck him on his back while Bucky wrapped his legs around his waist. Vogel came like lightening if Bucky went deep enough to choke himself. He’d learned to say the words they wanted in a satisfyingly convincing way. Even when one of the soldiers seemed reluctant, Bucky got them to relent. In Brooklyn, he’d been able to turn any head he wanted. The same principles applied here. 

Want had become a meaningless word. He asked for things he didn’t want, begged for them if it was required. He remembered his original resolution not to talk, and especially not to beg. It didn’t matter, he told himself. The plan required compliance, and having a plan was better than having wants. If Bucky didn’t want anything, they couldn’t use the weakness of his wants against him.

On his knees, with his mouth stretched wide around Unteroffizier Graf’s cock, Bucky looked up at the Hydra uniform, crisp and black. How many men like this had he shot, watching them through a scope? Did they know how many of them he’d killed? He thought that was unlikely. They’d all seen him on his knees begging for cock, seen him coming while two of them filled him up. It was no surprise they thought of him as a convenient hole rather than as a dangerous enemy combatant. He was no longer any threat to these men. He’d never hold a rifle again.

As he flicked his tongue over the head of Graf’s cock, a hot, painful burn bubbled up inside him. It took Bucky a moment to identify it as shame. For an instant it froze him, pulling him to a stop with his lips fitted around the base of Graf’s dick and his mouth stuffed full. He wasn’t supposed to be doing any of this. He couldn’t let this Hydra soldier, this enemy, use him, couldn’t _beg_ the man to use him.

“There, there.” Müller patted a hand against Bucky’s cheek, which was stretched taut over the cock in his mouth. “It’s all right, Sergeant. You’re doing the right thing. This is the only smart choice. You are in control of your own decisions, here.”

Yes, that was true. Bucky had managed to survive everything they’d thrown at him thus far. He’d decided on this path because it was the best strategic choice to stay alive while waiting for a chance to escape. It didn’t matter what they thought of him. He was doing the right thing, the smart thing. He returned to sucking his handler’s cock.

Over the days, Bucky also became proficient at making himself come, no matter what else was happening. He figured out how to make his body obey, to mold it into what Hydra wanted. Every little trick that made it easier to get himself off, he learned. He wouldn’t give them an excuse to punish him. It was only his body, only meaningless words. 

“Fuck me. Harder, come on. Fuck me,” he chanted as Klein pounded into him from behind, shoving him tight against the wall. Klein always finished faster if Bucky kept up a commentary during the action. He’d gotten going so hard that there was barely space for Bucky to tug at his dick, hurrying to finish before Klein. He’d learned a hard lesson last week when he hadn’t managed to come before the day’s handlers, and had endured six more increasingly unpleasant fucks before managing to bully his body into an orgasm. Since then, Bucky made certain to chase down every scrap of pleasurable feeling as fuel for his climax. He noted Klein’s hands gripping his hair, the slick punch of Klein’s dick filling him up, the just-right squeeze of his fingers over his own cock. He shot against the tile moments before Klein came inside him. 

Klein backed off immediately, and Bucky turned to brace his back against the wall before panting out, “Thank you for making me come,” right on cue. 

Müller clapped him on the right shoulder and flashed a proud smile. “You have made so much progress since you came to us.”

Did that mean Müller trusted him? If so, there might be a chance of escape, soon. If they thought they’d tamed him, they might not be as vigilant. Bucky’s plan was right on track. He pushed away from the wall and prepared to follow the soldiers out for his daily cleaning, but Müller held on, ducking down to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“I want you to know I’m very pleased with you, Sergeant Barnes. You’ve chosen the easy path.” He gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze and turned away, leaving him to follow the soldiers out.

The words needled Barnes as he sat in his cell, eating his dinner—a warm bowl of stew with fresh bread. His choices hadn’t led to anything easy. He didn’t enjoy what they made him do, but he chose to endure it for the greater good. So he could get away. If he let them beat him into submission, or if they abandoned him in his cell, he would have no chance to escape. He only did what was necessary to survive, so they wouldn’t break him. Nothing about what he’d chosen was easy. 

He was still seething hours after the soldiers had taken his dishes away, as he lay wrapped up in his blankets, trying vainly for sleep. 

With a grinding shriek of metal, the door to his cell swung open, spilling harsh light into the room. Bucky fought free of the blankets and struggled to his feet. His heart thudded in his chest in counterpoint to his panicked breathing. A change in routine was dangerous. It wouldn’t mean anything good. 

Shadows appeared in the doorway: the bulky outline of two Hydra soldiers holding a third man. They shoved him inside and slammed the door, leaving the cell in darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky pressed his back against the wall, bracing for an attack. The room seemed darker than it had a minute ago, with his night-vision now shot to hell by the momentary light from the hallway. The sounds of the newcomer breathing seemed too loud in the usually silent cell.

“Hello?” The voice sounded young, the accent American. “Is someone here?”

Bucky took a breath that jammed in his throat. He hadn’t spoken to anyone—hadn’t seen anyone—other than Hydra personnel since he’d fallen from the train. “Who are you?” His voice sounded hard and sure, more like the NCO he’d been and not the pathetic wretch who begged Müller’s men to fuck him. The newcomer was just one guy, and this was Bucky’s space, his territory. 

“I… PFC Thompson. Where—“

Bucky stalked easily across the room, confident from the knowledge of having paced over every inch a hundred times in the dark. He caught the stranger by the shirt, slammed him up against the door, and braced his arm across the man’s chest, ready to pin him by throat if he needed to. “You’re a prisoner?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes!” The man’s voice held a panicked edge. For all that he was several inches shorter than Bucky, he seemed solid enough: real. He pressed back against the door, cringing away from Bucky like a man in fear of his life. “I’m an American, I swear!” 

“All right. I believe you.” Bucky pulled back, letting go of the man’s shirt, which was a familiar rough cotton, standard Army issue. “I’m a prisoner, too. Sergeant James Barnes, formerly of the 107th.”

“Fred Thompson.” The man stuck his hand out and managed to find Bucky’s to shake it. “88th Infantry. Wait, Barnes…” Thompson leaned closer, as if trying to make out Bucky’s features in the almost nonexistent light. “ _The_ Sergeant Barnes? Really? From the Howling Commandos?” Thompson squeezed his hand harder until Bucky tugged it away. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Bucky took a step back and tucked his hand into his pocket. 

“Wow, that’s…” Thompson scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I guess I just never thought I’d meet you. It’s an honor, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky,” he said quickly. 

“Is it just you in here?” Thompson asked. “I mean it just looks... big.”

“Yeah, practically a palace.” Bucky couldn’t imagine why this kid—for he couldn’t be more than twenty, maybe not even that—had been brought here. If he’d given it much thought, he would have guessed he was the only prisoner Hydra kept here; he’d certainly never seen any others. “Where’s the rest of your unit?”

“They took a bunch of us prisoner. Dozens, I think. At least twenty I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”

Dozens of soldiers, somewhere in the same facility. If he could find them, maybe they could get out together, just like in Austria. Then again, there was no Captain America coming to rescue them this time. “Where do they keep you?”

“There’s a pen, kind of. Cages near the factory where they make us work. It’s not…” Thompson exhaled noisily. “Well, at least we’re still alive. They brought in a new group of prisoners yesterday. Maybe that’s why they moved me. Overcrowding.”

“Maybe.” Bucky thought it was more likely that this was Müller’s idea of a consolation for his recent isolation: a reward for his compliance, one that Bucky could turn to his advantage. Something loosened in Bucky’s chest, knowing his plan was working at last. He returned his attention to Thompson, whose lingering grin was visible despite the dim light. “You shouldn’t be talking to me. I could be a Hydra agent.”

“You’re not, are you?” Thompson’s eyes, pale in the darkness, widened.

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you,” Bucky pointed out. 

“I could be an agent, too.” Thompson crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not.” Bucky laughed. The sound startled him: he hadn’t heard anything like it in a long time. 

“I could—“

“You’re not.” Bucky had gotten to know the Hydra officers here intimately enough in the past few weeks that he could say for certain this man couldn’t be one of theirs. He was just a scared kid, far from home. Bucky backed further into the cell, and spread his arm to the side in a welcoming gesture. “So, come on in. Welcome to my humble abode. Where you from?”

Thompson proceeded to expound at a mile-a-minute on growing up in upstate New York, which Bucky was too polite to say wasn’t half as good as regular New York, specifically Brooklyn. He showed Bucky a picture of a wrinkly baby in the arms of a round-faced blonde woman, and he gave Bucky one of his three remaining cigarettes. Bucky shared a few of the raunchier stories of the Howlies’ exploits, smiling at Thompson’s blatant disbelief, and threw in a few tall tales about Dugan’s misadventures during basic training. 

When they migrated to sitting against the wall together, Bucky sacrificed one of his heavy wool blankets and Thompson volunteered one of his last matches. They tore the blanket into strips and twined it into little ropes that they burned in Bucky’s tin drinking cup as makeshift candles. Bucky tried not to think what he might have done if he’d had matches or cigarettes when they’d left him alone. 

In the flickering light, Bucky could see that Thompson wore an infantry uniform that looked two sizes too large. He had shaggy blond hair and a cut along his cheek that had scabbed over. As he talked, telling a long and frankly ludicrous story about finding himself on leave in London with a bunch of sailors, his pale eyes kept sliding to Bucky’s left side. 

“Go ahead,” Bucky said at last. “Ask.”

“So, your arm…” 

“What about it?” Bucky tried not to look at the arm, or think about it. He still felt it: phantom pains and tingling in fingers that didn’t exist anymore. Every morning, he had a disorienting moment of trying to lift his arm and discovering it wouldn’t respond. But the arm was just one more part of him that had gone missing since he fell off that train. It didn’t even seem like the most important lack, now. 

“Did they do that to you?” Thompson asked, low like he was afraid of the answer.

“Yeah. I think when I got here.” Bucky remembered only flashes of that: mangled skin and bone, bright lights and doctors, pain. “I was injured before they found me.”

“They torture you?”

“No.” No needles, no knives, no beatings. They didn’t hurt him hardly at all anymore, even the ones who enjoyed using him roughly. Perhaps he’d grown used to it. 

“You look okay.” Thompson quailed at Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, they took the time to patch you up.”

“It healed pretty fast.” Everything seemed to heal pretty fast, now. Bucky looked down at the clean bandage the doctor had changed that morning. They hadn’t done anything to the arm other than check to see if was healing. The Army wouldn’t have done any different, probably. 

“I mean,” Thompson twined his fingers together around his propped-up knees. “I figured if one of us got hurt, in the factory maybe, they wouldn’t bother to…”

Bucky thought back to the members of the 107th at Azzano who’d been too hurt to walk, shot where they lay before the Hydra soldiers marched the survivors back to the factory. He had no trouble believing that Hydra wouldn’t suffer any dead weight, which made the reason they were keeping Bucky alive all the more mysterious. “I guess they’re not done with me yet,” Bucky said. 

What they could possible want from him that they weren’t already getting, Bucky preferred not to contemplate. He turned to Thompson, who had settled his chin on his knees and was staring into their sputtering candle. “So, tell me everything you can about the facility. Guards, ways out, whatever you know.”

In the quietest hours of the night, Thompson fell asleep on Bucky’s straw pallet, curled up under a pile of blankets. His gentle snores rose above the steady thud of Bucky’s pulse. 

After weeks of being alone in his cell, Bucky couldn’t relax. He used to be soothed by sounds of his fellow soldiers around him in the dark. He’d long known every sound Steve Rogers made in his sleep—every drowsy sigh and unintelligible mumble. In the past few months, he’d learned to recognize all the other Howlies by the sounds they made asleep under canvas. A few weeks ago, when he’d been left alone in his cell for too long, he would have given his remaining arm for the chance to see another human being, or even to hear them breathing. But having someone with him here, in a place where he’d always been alone, kept him restless and on edge.

Bucky was still awake when the soldiers came to take him away for his daily session. Thompson startled out of his sleep when the door opened and flailed in his nest of blankets. 

“It’s all right.” Bucky hurried over to the door, putting himself between the guards and the rest of the cell, and held his hand out to Thompson as if addressing a scared animal. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Bucky?” Thompson struggled to his feet, fists raised and ready to fight. “Where are they taking you?”

Bucky spared a glance for today’s handlers—Schreiber and Klein—but they were staring down the hallway, impatient and slightly bored like any other day. “Just… Hold tight, okay. There’ll be time for that later.” He dredged up a smile, the same lopsided one that used to mean he had everything under control. Thompson smiled back. “I won’t be gone long.” 

Slowly, Bucky backed out of the cell, and the guards closed the door behind him without even a glance at Thompson. With any luck, Bucky would earn the chance to clean up before he got back, and Thompson wouldn’t have to know what he’d been doing. 

Bucky would cooperate, just as he usually did, and Müller would think he didn’t pose a threat, and then Bucky could plan how to meet up with the other prisoners and get out. With Thompson to help, the two of them should be able to get the jump on his negligent guards. Maybe after a session, when they were pliant and fucked-out and not expecting anything else from him. That could work. Bucky had endured this long: another few days of waiting would be easy. He followed the guards down the hall, head held high.


	9. Chapter 9

In the white-tiled room, Bucky stripped without needing to be told. He folded and arranged every piece of his outfit neatly, and even brushed his too-long hair back out of his eyes before he got on his knees in the center of the room, where he began each day. He would be on his best behavior and show Müller how compliant he’d become. He’d demonstrate appropriate gratitude for having been given the privilege of some company. 

Müller stepped up before him and raised an eyebrow, taking in Bucky’s bowed head, his hand relaxed against his bare thigh. “You are very accommodating this morning, Sergeant. I hope you had a restful evening.”

Someone behind him laughed—Schreiber, maybe, whose voice was like sandpaper—but Bucky ignored it. It didn’t matter what they thought of him, especially now that he wouldn’t be here much longer. Let them see him as a useless coward; he knew better.

“Yes,” he said, with his eyes on Müller’s highly polished boots. “Do you want to start now?”

A faint clank interrupted Müller’s answer as the door swung open; the hinges here were kept oiled and in better shape than the one’s on Bucky’s cell door. From his place on the floor, Bucky turned his head to look, expecting one of the doctors who occasionally came to watch and take notes. Instead, he saw two of his regular guards, Lange and Günther, leading PFC Thompson.

Thompson’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the guards and Müller and landing on Bucky where he knelt naked and unbound in the center of the floor. Bucky’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak. 

“Mitcommen,” Lange said, and prodded Thompson in the back. They led him to the corner, where he had a perfect view of the proceedings. 

Bucky looked up at Müller, who smiled down at him as if nothing were wrong. “This is no different than any other day, Sergeant Barnes. You may continue. Would you prefer to suck cock first or be sodomized?”

Bucky’s eyes darted to Thompson, who stared back at him, blue eyes wide. 

“As far as I can tell, you enjoy both equally, so I will leave the choice up to you.” When Bucky turned his face to the floor, determinedly trying not to think past the buzzing in his head, Müller stepped forward and tipped his chin up with one finger. “Surely you are not acting shy? This is nothing you haven’t done before, Sergeant. On many occasions.”

“I…” Bucky wanted to explain that he wasn’t kneeling here passively of his own volition. It was all part of a plan. He didn’t want to do this. When he risked a glance to the corner, Thompson was looking back and forth between Müller and Bucky, brow furrowed. 

“After all, this arrangement exists because you have requested it.” Müller drew his hand away and took a step back, the better to look down at Bucky with that infuriatingly calm, expectant smile. “As always, Sergeant Barnes, the choice to proceed is your own. However, I am certain you understand there will be consequences if you do not fulfill the bargain you have made.” 

With a sudden swell of fear, Bucky looked Thompson over. He still wore his uniform, even his boots. His hands were bound behind his back, but Lange and Günther stood a few feet away, not touching him. His face, bearing a few days’ worth of scruff, was unbloodied. They hadn’t hit him yet. Surely they wouldn’t subject him to the same things Bucky had endured, not when he was still strong and whole, capable of working in their factory. 

“Go on, Sergeant Barnes,” Müller said. “Ask for what you want. You have been particularly eloquent before on the subject of your desire to suck Gefreiter Klein’s cock. Perhaps start with that.”

Bucky swallowed hard. From the corner of his eye, he could see Thompson watching him with his mouth pressed into a grim line. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. He’d done all this before. 

“Sergeant? Do you have something to say?”

The fact that someone was watching, someone that knew who Bucky was supposed to be, shouldn’t make any difference. Sergeant Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos wasn’t meant to be on his knees asking sweetly for the enemy to fuck him and make him come, please. That wasn’t right. But he had to do it. It was the only smart choice. 

“Sergeant?” Müller prompted again. 

Bucky looked up at him with parted lips, wanting to speak but unable to say the words that would betray what he’d become. 

“Very well,” Müller said. He lifted his Luger from its holster and leveled it at Thompson. 

Bucky whirled to see Thompson’s panicked eyes staring at him. “Bucky?” 

The shot reverberated in the small room. Blood sprayed in an elegant pattern against the white tile. The bullet struck the wall opposite Müller and sent a chip of tile tinkling down to shatter against the floor. Thompson’s body slumped heavily to land on its side. His blue eyes were still open, vacantly staring. 

“Continue,” Müller said, waving a hand at the guards. 

Bucky’s ears buzzed, blocking out sound as they pushed him onto his stomach, as they’d done in the early days. One of them—Klein, his mind supplied distantly—prepped him with slick before shoving roughly inside. There was no need to hold him down, because he made no effort to move.

Bucky’s cheek pressed against the white tile, a mirror image of Thompson, whose skin paled as blood drained out of him in a widening pool, staining the pristine white tile. There was a small, perfect hole in his forehead, as beautiful a shot as Bucky had ever made as a sniper. 

Müller crouched in front of Bucky and cocked his head at the body on the floor, examining his handiwork. “I confess I am surprised at your choice, Sergeant. I would not have imagined the life of a fellow soldier would be worth so little to you.”

“It’s not—“ Bucky began, but Klein thrust into him hard, knocking the breath out of him. By the time he regained his breath, Müller had stood and turned away. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of Thompson’s body. 

With his eyes closed, he could feel every slick rub of Klein’s cock inside him, the familiar pressure he’d come to rely on to bring himself off each day. He dug his ragged fingernails into his thigh, trying to kill the building pleasure. 

“Sergeant.” Müller sounded as irritated as Bucky had ever heard him. “Your decision not to let Private Thompson live does not exempt you from your responsibilities in today’s session. You will still need to accommodate both handlers and achieve your own end before we can be finished here today.” 

“I didn’t…” Bucky began, but then opened his eyes to see Thompson’s blank, unmoving face. After all he’d done so far, he’d let them trick him again. He’d gotten too good at playing along, not giving them reasons to hurt him, so they’d tried to intimidate him into misbehaving, and he’d fallen for it. He’d hesitated, and Thompson had lost his life. 

Bucky barely felt it when Klein shuddered against him and then pulled out. Schreiber tugged Bucky up onto his knees before he plunged in, rocking Bucky against the tile floor. 

This wouldn’t end, Bucky knew, until he did what was required. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his cock, to gather all the thin strands of pleasure he could find in another man using his body and weave them into something he could use to get off. He didn’t deserve it. Let Müller bring in soldier after soldier: they could all fuck him, hurt him, use him. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” Müller’s hand landed on his bare shoulder, a comforting warm weight. His voice, even and familiar, sounded soft in Bucky’s ears, drifting past the fading buzz of the gunshot. “I am sorry I snapped at you. I have learned by now that you are as hard on yourself as anyone when you make a mistake. But listen, Sergeant. If you give up, you’ll never have a chance to correct your error.”

Bucky wriggled out from under Müller’s hand and pressed his face into the tile, so he wouldn’t have to see. 

“Sergeant.” Müller’s hand stroked against Bucky’s back, a slow, gentle counterpoint to Schreiber’s energetic thrusts. “This will happen again, if you don’t prevent it. It cannot be so difficult. You’ve always found a way to make it work. Just let yourself come, as you’ve done so many times before, and it will be over for today. Next time, you will improve.”

Next time. When Bucky closed his eyes, he could see the startled, disbelieving fear in Thompson’s eyes in the instant before he died. Bucky could have stopped it. The plan called for him to cooperate. He had no reason to balk, just because one more person was watching him. It didn’t matter. 

Bucky settled his fingers over his limp cock and closed his eyes. If he could ignore Thompson, whose blood he could smell mixed with the scent of sex, he could focus on the cock pistoning into him, the firm grip of Schreiber’s hands around Bucky’s waist, slamming him back into each thrust, the rhythmic clench of his hole around the demanding girth that kept him spread. 

Those sensations were familiar. They didn’t hurt, not really. They were the same each time, and Bucky could count on them; he knew how his body worked, how to make it do what they wanted. He was supposed to do what they wanted. That was the plan. If he’d stuck to the plan, Thompson wouldn’t be dead. 

Bucky let Schreiber’s thrusts rock his hips forward into his fist, sliding through his grip as he hardened. He could do this. If he did this, everything would be all right. He wouldn’t have failed entirely. He could still salvage the situation. 

With his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched, Bucky made himself relax and take pleasure in what was being done to him. Schreiber always took his time; he could go on for much longer than was comfortable, if Bucky didn’t help him along. 

Bucky braced his hand against the tile and pushed back into Schreiber’s next shove. That spurred Schreiber on to fuck him harder, his balls slapping wetly against Bucky as he slammed back into each thrust. 

Bucky didn’t let himself think of anything beyond the confines of his body: the slick slide of his hand over his cock, the trickle of sweat running down his neck, the satisfying burn of Schreiber filling him up. If he focused only on that, he could do it. He felt his orgasm gather, coiling low in his belly as his balls tightened. When Schreiber thrust into him hard enough to ruin his balance, tipping him forward onto his shoulders and letting him hide his face against the tile, he felt his orgasm roll through him, drowning out thought and pain as it went. 

That earned him a few moments of blissful blankness while Schreiber finished, spending his seed inside to mingle with Klein’s before pulling out and leaving a dribble of come to creep down Bucky’s thigh. 

Bucky stayed where we was, panting and feeling each point of sensation in his body, until he heard Müller kneel beside him. “What do you say?”

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered. He couldn’t open his eyes. If he opened his eyes, he’d see Thompson’s empty eyes staring back at him.

For once, Müller didn’t press him for a more convincing demonstration of his gratitude. 

When Klein half-lifted Bucky to his feet, his touch was gentle. He ducked under Bucky’s arm and supported him as if he were injured, guiding him towards the door. Bucky kept his face turned away from where Thompson lay.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Müller stepped up beside him and ducked to meet his eyes. “I want you to think about what you will do tomorrow. You will the be the one to decide what happens, yes?”

“Yes.” Bucky made himself look back at Thompson’s body, at the bright puddle of red against the shocking white of the tile. Klein let Bucky look his fill before he led him away.

Back in his cell, the burned remains of the makeshift candles had been removed, and the blanket replaced. Bucky could almost imagine that Thompson had never been there. But when he sat down against the wall and closed his eyes, he could hear the wet thud of a bullet impacting flesh, smell the sharp metallic scent of cooling blood, see the open eyes staring at nothing. 

Bucky pressed his ragged fingernails against the bandages that hid the stump of his left arm until the pain throbbed so insistently he couldn’t think of anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky sat on the stone floor instead of the straw pallet, because all of the luxuries Hydra had provided were wrong. He didn’t deserve warmth or comfort or companionship. When the soldiers brought him lunch, he couldn’t look at the food. The smell of it nauseated him. If he closed his eyes, he saw Thompson’s face, slack and uncomprehending in death. Dinner arrived at some point, but Bucky didn’t touch that, either. 

The hours slid by silently, rolling closer to another morning, another session in the white-tiled room. Bucky had a choice, Müller had said. He hadn’t known what was going to happen to Thompson. If he’d realized what Müller had meant, he would have stopped it. Surely he would have stopped it. 

Sleep threatened to drag him down, but Bucky pushed upright and made himself walk, ignoring the cold of stone under his bare feet. Rest was another luxury he didn’t deserve. He should have known the rules of the game, and he wouldn’t be fooled again. He understood what was coming this time, and so all he had to do was cooperate. He couldn’t let himself be distracted. He could fix his mistake. He had to. 

When the door opened, he rose without a word and followed the day’s handlers—Fischer and Lange—down the hallway into the white-tiled room. Müller stood waiting for him, as usual. “Good morning, Sergeant,” he said as he straightened the collar on his uniform.

Bucky headed immediately for his proper spot. He marched halfway into the room before the sight of Thompson’s corpse stopped him. The body lay where it had fallen: pale and unmoving at the center of a sticky red ring of drying blood. 

Bucky forced his legs to move until he made it to the center of the room and dropped to his knees. The body hadn’t disappeared the way his other transgressions did, here, but that changed nothing. It would serve as a reminder, that was all; he had to do better, _be_ better. He couldn’t fail again. 

With his head bowed and his hand resting against his thigh, Bucky waited for the interruption he knew must be coming. Sure enough, the door to the room swung open again to admit Werner, Graf, and a tall American soldier with his hands bound behind him. 

The man planted his feet and resisted being dragged forward long enough to take stock of the room’s contents. His eyes caught on Bucky’s kneeling, naked form for a moment before landing on Thompson’s corpse. 

“Fred?” His voice was breathless, barely audible. Another member of the 88th, then. He stumbled forward when Graf shoved him, until they had him on his knees just beyond the edge of the pool of Thompson’s blood.

“Sergeant?” Müller stepped up to Bucky and patted him on the cheek. “Would you like to introduce yourself to our guest?”

Bucky kept his eyes on the wall. This would be easier if he didn’t think about who was watching. “Sergeant James Barnes, formerly of the 107th.”

He heard a dull thud, like a boot connecting with flesh. “Name,” someone snapped, probably Werner, with his limited English and short temper. 

“Corporal Jacob Ingram. Pleased to meet you.”

Bucky risked a quick glance at Ingram. The man couldn’t have been older than Thompson, and he looked just as ragged and underfed. He offered Bucky a weak smile, which Bucky did not return. That kind of bravery was stupid. It stoked a flare of anger somewhere under Bucky’s ribs. 

“Corporal,” Müller said. “Your role today is to watch. Anything beyond that is up to Sergeant Barnes. Your safety depends on his cooperation.”

“I’m not scared of you.” Even as Ingram said it, his voice shook. Idiot, Bucky thought. Thompson’s body was lying right there, and still this guy refused to see. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” Müller turned to him with his usual polite smile firmly in place.

It would be best to get this over quickly, Bucky had decided. No hesitation. Nothing that could be construed as defiance. He looked to where Lange and Fischer stood along the far wall. “How would you like me?”

“I want his ass,” Lange said immediately. Normally they spoke in German, but today, possibly for Ingram’s benefit, they had changed to English. Bucky preferred the German; somehow hearing what they wanted from him in his own language felt unbearably real.

“You know,” Fischer replied. “I think I do as well.” 

Lange barked out a laugh and clapped Fischer on the back. From their place behind Ingram, the other guards chuckled as well. Bucky ignored them. He only needed to follow instructions. What the handlers thought of him made no difference. 

Lange gestured to Bucky to come closer. It was difficult to crawl with only three limbs, but Bucky knew how much Lange enjoyed watching him struggle, so he hobbled across the floor until he could kneel at Lange’s feet. 

When Lange patted his crotch, Bucky felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps Lange would be satisfied getting sucked after all. 

“May I please touch your cock?” Bucky asked before he tried anything. Skipping this step once had resulted in a black eye, so he never neglected to ask permission. 

“If you like,” Lange replied. 

Bucky had found that if he held onto the cloth with his teeth, he could unbutton pants much faster. He did so now, undoing Lange’s fly with practiced efficiency and tugging down Lange’s shorts to free his cock. It was mostly soft, but Bucky doubted that would be a problem for long. “Can I suck you?” Bucky asked, looking Lange in the eyes as he’d been taught.

“Go ahead,” Lange said with a magnanimous wave.

Bucky bent to his task, rifling through his memories of Lange’s preferences to determine what would make this go quickly. Eye contact, tight pressure, as wet and sloppy as he could stand to make it. Before Bucky could move, Lange fisted a hand in Bucky’s hair and held on tight. “Just stay right there, my dear. Keep me warm.”

Bucky would not struggle, must not. He could only stay still with his nose pressed into the coarse dark hair of Lange’s crotch and the buttons digging into his cheek with the soft bulk of Lange’s cock unmoving in his mouth like a dead thing. 

Bucky’s stomach roiled, but he pushed the nausea down. He would be perfect in his compliance today. He would not resist. He would not make any mistakes. He would show them that he could make the right choices, the ones that would prove he was the man he was supposed to be.

When Fischer petted down his naked flank, Bucky started, but immediately marshaled himself back to stillness. “Do you want my fingers before we fuck you?” Fischer asked, quiet against his neck. “Or do you want it dry?” Fischer drew two fingers down Bucky’s spine to trace around his hole. 

Bucky didn’t want Fischer to touch him at all, but that wasn’t an option. Slick made it easier to come, Bucky knew, and the plan was to finish today’s session as quickly as possible. He would ask to be fingered. 

He pulled back to free his mouth to answer, but Lange tightened his grip and yanked Bucky back onto his slowly hardening cock. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Müller prompted. “Fischer asked you a question.”

“Please,” Bucky tried to say around the cock in his mouth, but it came out an unintelligible collection of vowels.

“What was that?” Fischer prodded at Bucky’s hole with his dry, blunt thumb. “I cannot understand him.”

“Fingers, please,” Bucky tried, but it was still hopelessly muffled.

“I think he wants the slick, but I really do not know.” Lange used his grip on Bucky’s hair to tug him even closer, forcing the thick mass of his cock into Bucky’s throat. “Sometimes I think he likes the pain.”

“Sadly, you may be right, Gefreiter.” Müller’s voice came from the side, near where Ingram had been positioned. “I am often surprised by how much he enjoys his sessions here. You see, Corporal? I am afraid there is not much hope that a man like this could make any choice that would benefit you.”

Bucky struggled to breathe through his nose as panic welled up. If they wouldn’t let him speak, how could he be good? How could he win? He quashed the fear that threatened to choke him with as deep a breath as he could muster, then spread his knees further apart and tilted his ass up towards Fischer. 

“Oh yes, it seems you were correct,” Müller said. “Well, then, give him what he wants.”

Fischer’s fingers disappeared momentarily, and then Bucky felt them teasing against his hole again, cold and slick with vaseline. He waited for that first shocking invasion, but the fingers only played, feather-light, around the rim of his hole.

“Sergeant, Fischer has his fingers ready for your pleasure,” Müller said. “Do you not want them? Perhaps he misinterpreted your request. Would you rather be fucked dry?”

Bucky tried again to pull his mouth free, but a brutal yank from the hand on his hair kept him in place. Another tactic, then. It was difficult to move with his mouth anchored to Lange’s swelling cock, but Bucky managed to push his hips back against the fingers at his entrance. To his relief, he had enough range of motion to take in most of the length of the offered digits. The initial penetration was a smooth, easy slide, almost pleasurable. That could be useful. If Bucky could make himself come early in the session, he wouldn’t have to worry about it later. He was usually more relaxed after an orgasm, which meant the penetration wouldn’t hurt as much. If they both really planned to fuck him, that could be mighty handy. 

While Lange kept a firm hold of his head, Bucky strained backwards, screwing himself down against Fischer’s fingers in a punishing rhythm. He barely noticed when Fischer added a third finger; his own cock had started to harden. The spread of Fischer’s fingers was slick and steady, a not-pain close enough to pleasure for Bucky’s estimation. Though his legs were beginning to burn and his arm ached from where it was awkwardly braced on the floor, he’d managed to get almost as hard as Lange, now. 

“You see, Corporal?” Müller said. “That’s better. He has learned to communicate his needs clearly. He is actually quite clever. I suppose that’s why he was once a celebrated soldier.”

“What do you mean?” Ingram’s voice sounded thin, like maybe he was having trouble breathing. That seemed ridiculous, though. He wasn’t the one being held down with his mouth around a cock. He had no right to complain. 

“Do you not recognize him from the comics? No? Well, perhaps he looks a bit different from his former self. He is one of the famous Howling Commandos. You know them?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fred was a big fan.”

Bucky blocked out the voices, even though that meant listening to the wet, fleshy sounds of his own body being used. Unless they wanted something from him, whatever Müller had to say was unimportant. He concentrated on working himself open on Fischer’s fingers, sucking on Lange’s cock, and stoking the ember of arousal that had started to grow. 

Abruptly, Fischer’s fingers slid from his ass, and though Bucky pushed back, chasing that touch, he got only a slap on his ass for the trouble. “Do not be greedy,” Fischer snapped. 

“There will be plenty of time for that.” Lange laughed again, for some reason, and the others joined him. Lange wrenched Bucky’s head off his cock and tugged his fingers roughly through Bucky’s hair to free his hand before settling to the ground on his back. He patted his lap, the way one would call a dog. 

Bucky sat gulping in air and willing his shaking legs to move. He wasn’t stalling, he wasn’t resisting, he just couldn’t quite get his limbs to cooperate. At last Fischer grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him on top of Lange, where he practically collapsed. 

Lange tugged him down by the back of the neck before he even managed to get balanced astride him. At the last moment, Bucky turned his head to avoid Lange’s face, so Lange mouthed wetly against his neck. That left Bucky facing Müller, who looked pointedly at Ingram kneeling beside him before raising an eyebrow at Bucky. 

Right. Anything it took, Bucky would do. Nothing they did to him today mattered. Cooperation didn’t cost him anything. It was worth it to show them he wouldn’t be tricked again, that he had the power to save a man they wanted to kill.

Bucky let Lange guide him down into a kiss that was at least half bite. Lange ground their mouths together, delving his tongue between Bucky’s lips and licking inside him, claiming every inch. This was nothing like the soft exploration Bucky had done in Brooklyn, when he wanted to show a girl he knew how to treat her right. This was another way for Lange to burrow inside him, to goad him into resistance. Bucky wouldn’t. He’d chosen not to. He went limp against Lange’s chest, letting the man nip and suck at his bruised mouth while his damp cock, pressed up against Bucky’s ass, throbbed in a blood-hot line against bare skin. 

“It’s all right to ask for what you want, Sergeant,” Müller said. It sounded polite, but Bucky knew it was a reminder. He didn’t know how much stalling was allowed, but he wasn’t prepared to risk pushing the issue. 

Bucky tugged free of Lange’s kiss. This close, Bucky could see every line and scar on Lange’s narrow face. He was younger than he’d looked when Bucky was on his knees. “Please fuck me,” he said. 

A corner of Lange’s mouth curled up into a smirk. “Do it yourself.”

Bucky closed his eyes tight for a moment but forced them open right away. No hesitation, he’d promised himself. Get this over with as quickly as possible. Bucky braced his hand against Lange’s chest, above the pocket on his pristine uniform. He pushed down hard against Lange’s cock, but even with his hole slicked open, he only managed to smear the wet head of Lange’s cock across his ass. 

Obligingly, Lange used the hand that wasn’t holding Bucky’s neck to steady himself, so that Bucky could impale himself on Lange’s cock, all the while keeping his eyes on the white tile, blessedly clean and blank.

“Tell Lange how it feels,” Müller instructed.

“Good.” When Bucky risked a glance to the side, Müller frowned at him. Bucky looked back at Lange, who had folded his hands under his head and was grinning up at him. “I like your cock stretching me,” he said. For good measure, he rocked back against Lange’s cock, taking it deeper. 

“What do you want, Sergeant?” Müller prompted. “Be honest.”

“Fuck me, please.” Bucky had gotten stalled here before, when handlers, perhaps sensing his reluctance, his tendency to try to blank what was happening to him, refused to fuck him without further assurance of his cooperation. Lange liked to hear him talk, Bucky knew, but liked him best when he was wordless and incoherent from pain or arousal. “Please, I need it.” He did. The plan required Bucky to finish this, and quickly, before he could make another mistake. If he could push enough of Lange’s buttons, he may even finish in Bucky’s mouth, and taking Fischer right after might be bearable.

Lange looked at Müller, who looked back at Bucky. Not good enough.

Bucky licked his chapped lips and worked his hand in between his belly and Lange’s to fist his growing erection. As he did so, he marshaled the strength in his aching legs to push back against Lange’s cock. “Don’t you see how much I need it? Give it to me. Please. Please, sir.”

Lange yanked Bucky down by the neck and attacked his mouth against as he thrust up into him. That last must’ve done it. Bucky made a note to try calling Lange “sir” in the future to speed things along. 

The angle was wrong for deep penetration, but Lange managed short, shallow thrusts that rocked Bucky against him in a rhythmic slide. 

“See, I knew he could do it,” Müller said. “You should thank Sergeant Barnes, Corporal, for putting on such a good show.”

If Ingram said anything in response, Bucky didn’t hear it. He couldn’t listen to any of that; he concentrated on what he had to do. Though the position wasn’t exactly comfortable, it didn’t take too much work on Bucky’s part. He braced his hand on Lange’s chest and tried to keep his balance while he pushed back into Lange’s thrusts. With Lange’s mouth sliding against him and his cock inside, Bucky couldn’t focus on getting himself off. 

Lange was too close: beneath him, inside him, touching him everywhere. Even when Bucky slammed his eyes shut, he couldn’t escape. Lange was the smell of cigarette smoke and wet wool, the taste of blood as teeth caught on Bucky’s lip, the pressure of his hand squeezing the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky couldn’t feel anything but Lange until wet fingers prodded at his entrance where he was stretched open around Lange’s cock. 

He jerked away, though he couldn’t go far trapped in Lange’s grip. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Müller standing beside Ingram’s bowed figure. They looked far away, a blotch of color against the pristine white tile. Fischer prodded at Bucky again, wiggling his finger in beside Lange. Bucky broke from Lange’s mouth with a gasp. 

“What’s the matter, Sergeant Barnes?” Müller asked. “Do you want him to stop?”

Bucky looked to Ingram, who was staring resolutely at a spot on the far wall. He had the luxury of pretending he wasn’t here, but Bucky couldn’t escape that way. He had to make to the right choice.

“No,” he said, looking at Müller.

“No, you don’t want him to stop?” Müller asked. “Then tell him how much you like it.”

Bucky turned away, only to be faced with Lange grinning up at him. He tucked his face against Lange’s shoulder. “I like it,” he said.

“I couldn’t hear that,” Fischer called from his place behind Bucky. 

“Speak up, my dear.” Lange brushed Bucky’s hair out of his face. “Do not be shy.”

“It feels tight. I’m… I can’t…”

“Of course you can, Sergeant.” Müller’s voice sounded distant and fuzzy as it resonated against the tile walls. “You have been brave all this time. How difficult can it be to take pleasure in what my men are trying to do for you? Let yourself relax and enjoy this.”

Fischer’s finger breached Bucky at last, and he stuffed it in alongside Lange’s cock. Immediately, another finger teased at Bucky’s stretched rim, vying for entrance.

“Don’t—“ he barked, before he gritted his teeth together to stop his words. 

“Don’t what?” Müller asked, with a warning note in his tone. “Is there a problem, Sergeant Barnes?”

It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t kill him, wasn’t really torture. Bucky would stick to the plan. It would be his choice to keep Ingram alive, no matter what they threw at him. “Don’t stop. I can take more.”

“Of course you can, Sergeant,” Müller purred.

Another finger, slick with vaseline, burrowed its way inside. Lange kept rocking into Bucky, gliding through his slick, stretched hole as easily as a train on a track. When the fingers slipped out, Bucky relaxed, letting himself settle against the warm solidity of Lange’s chest as he was fucked in a steady rhythm. If he focused only on that, the motion was almost soothing.

Lange spread his fingers across the back of Bucky’s thighs and splayed him wider, perhaps for better leverage. Bucky’s hips ached with the strain, but it wasn’t unendurable. Lange would finish soon, and then Bucky would be halfway done.

When Fischer crouched over him, bracketing Bucky’s hips with his knees, Bucky braced himself to be pulled away, perhaps thrown on the ground if Fischer was getting impatient. Then Bucky felt the hot, blunt press of Fischer’s cock beside Lange’s and froze. 

For a moment, his brain ground to a half, refusing to process what was happening. Fischer lined up and nudged forward. A high-pitched, inarticulate sound of protest ripped its way out of Bucky’s throat, and then he was writhing in panic, all the fight he’d been suppressing pouring out of him at once. 

He was already impaled on Lange’s cock, so all Fischer had to do to pin him in place was plant a hand in the middle of Bucky’s back. Then Bucky could only shudder, trapped, as Fischer bore into him, opening him up inexorably, carving a space for himself inside Bucky. Eyes wide, mouth open and moving soundlessly, Bucky tried to force air into his lungs. 

Somewhere far away, he saw Ingram squeeze his eyes shut and turn his face to the floor. Müller grabbed his chin and wrenched it up, then leaned over to say something Bucky couldn’t hear over the roaring rush of blood through his veins. Ingram opened his eyes and looked right at Bucky. He was pale and shaking, and Bucky hated him. No one was even touching him. How dare he be afraid when Bucky was doing this—all of this—because of him. 

The agonizing stretch seemed to go on forever, Fischer burrowing into him further and further until Bucky was sure he’d feel it in his throat. Then Fischer landed heavily against him, his uniform pants scratchy against Bucky’s thighs, and everything stilled. 

“It’s so nice to see you entertaining both your handlers at once, Sergeant,” Müller said. “You are so accommodating. Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” Bucky could barely draw breath to form the word. He couldn’t move. If he moved, he’d start to struggle, and that was not part of the plan. He was doing this for a reason. He had chosen to do this.

“And?” Müller watched him expectantly.

“Thank you for doing this to me,” Bucky tried. He could feel his body only distantly, as a throbbing mass of sensation, and he suspected it wouldn’t have obeyed him if he tried to move. He could barely raise his eyes to meet Müller’s. “This is what I need.”

“Do you want them to continue?” Müller asked. “If it is too much, they can stop.”

Bucky’s eyes darted to Ingram, who was studying the ground again, as if he didn’t want to see what was happening. That didn’t matter; Bucky didn’t need his approval. Bucky would save him, and he’d be sent back to wherever he’d come from, the factory, maybe. After it was over, they’d give Bucky a shower and a shave, a hot meal. And he would still be himself, still be the man who didn’t let others get hurt because of him. “No, keep going.” 

When Bucky looked back at Lange, directly beneath him, he was watching Müller, as if waiting for a verdict. 

“Please,” Bucky added in a rush. “Please keep going.”

When Fischer started to move, Bucky almost lost his resolve. Pain washed through his nerves, wave after wave, drowning out thought. Lange grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair and pulled him down to bite and suck at his mouth. Smashed between two hard bodies, his naked skin scraped against the rough fabric of their uniforms. They moved inside him erratically: not in any rhythm he could brace himself for, but a blundering jumble of pushing and thrusting that threatened to pull him apart. He only vaguely registered the hurt noises that spilled from his mouth into Lange’s. 

Fischer dug his fingers into Bucky’s shoulders for leverage as he tugged Bucky back onto him. Everything felt slick and open, though whether from blood or lube, Bucky couldn’t begin to say. 

He caught Ingram’s eye but quickly looked away. It didn’t matter what he looked like taking it from two Hydra soldiers at once, and it didn’t matter what that man thought of him. There was a reason he was doing this, wasn’t there? Hadn’t he decided this was important? That didn’t make sense. Why would he choose to endure this? What could possibly be worth it?

“Sergeant Barnes.” Müller’s perpetually calm voice jarred him back into awareness of his body. “Your handlers are almost done. You know what will happen if you don’t finish by then.”

Bucky couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely breathe with Lange and Fischer around him, inside him. Any part of his body that had once known how to feel pleasure had forgotten it now. There was no room for anything but agony. Hot breath puffed against his jaw—Lange—and teeth sunk into the flesh of his right shoulder—Fischer—and sent him squirming. The movement set off a flash of agony that radiated up his spine and outwards until every nerve shrieked at him to escape, to end this. 

“Sergeant!” Müller barked. “Will you not even make an effort? You know what is at stake, here.”

Beneath him, Lange groaned loudly. His hands, holding Bucky’s thighs apart, dug into his muscle with bruising force. He jerked beneath Bucky as he pumped him full of his seed, vocal in the pleasure of his release. 

Fischer continued slamming into Bucky, but the way was slick with come now, and he slid in more easily. He dropped his weight down against Bucky, going deeper with each thrust.

“He is very close,” Müller warned. “There is still time. These men are giving you every attention. Are you still not satisfied, Sergeant?”

Bucky cracked his eyes open to see Müller crouched beside him, eyes wide in apparent concern. Behind him, kneeling between Thompson’s body and the other two guards, Ingram had his head bowed, and quiet words spilled from his mouth. “…our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…”

“What are you doing?” Müller asked. “Do you want him to die?

Bucky’s cock, smashed under his aching body, had gone completely soft. He had tried. At the start, he’d done everything he could to make this work. At his side, Bucky’s hand curled into his fist. He shouldn’t have to do this. It should be enough to endure. Fischer rutted into him, squelching through the mess of semen Lange had already deposited and sending agony twisting through Bucky with every brutal thrust. Lange licked against Bucky’s mouth again before shoving his tongue inside. 

None of that sparked anything remotely like pleasure. After all he’d allowed to be done to him, Bucky still could not make his body obey. He couldn’t move, trapped between Lange’s mouth and Fischer’s cock, but he could look at Ingram, still curled in on himself, helpless. Worthless. 

With a throaty groan, Fischer wrenched himself free and took himself in hand, swearing as he shot stripes of come against Bucky’s ass. 

“Oh dear.” Müller rocked back on his heels. “That is that.”

It couldn’t be over. Frantically, Bucky grabbed hold of his cock and tugged, but it remained stubbornly limp. Even after Lange shoved him off and he slid onto the floor, Bucky lay with his legs spread, come leaking steadily out of his stretched hole as he tried to coax his body into the appropriate response. 

“It is as if he didn’t appreciate your efforts at all, gentlemen.” Müller pushed to his feet and turned back to the other guards. 

No, it wasn’t fair. Bucky had tried to comply. His gaze shot to Ingram, who had finally looked up. Ingram met Bucky’s eyes and shook his head slightly, just once, left to right. 

Müller raised his Luger to Ingram’s temple and pulled the trigger. The body dropped quickly, landing with a squelch in the pool of Thompson’s drying blood.

Good. 

That was Bucky’s first thought when he saw Ingram’s body hit the floor. Good, it was over. He didn’t have to worry about that man anymore, that man he’d never met before, and didn’t ask to be responsible for. He deserved it for making Bucky do all that and pretend to like it.

That thought was immediately followed by a wave of nausea that had Bucky doubled over, gasping for breath. No, that was wrong. He could not do this. He could endure anything they did to him, but this wasn’t right. Bucky Barnes was not a man who could be glad a fellow soldier was dead. He would not trade a man’s life for his own comfort. If he could allow that, then it was too late for him; he would already have nothing left of the man he’d been. 

So it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t feel relief at Ingram’s death. He still had a plan. He would find a way to do what Müller wanted, and he would get out. No matter what horrors were proposed to him, Bucky would withstand them. He wouldn’t let anyone else die because of his failure. If he couldn’t manage that, he would no longer be Bucky Barnes, but the compliant toy he was pretending to be. He wasn’t glad. He wasn’t.

With a wordless shout, Bucky lunged for Müller. Lange caught him with ease, clamping his arms around Bucky’s ribs while he thrashed ineffectually. Müller stalked over to him, still holding the gun—the smell of hot metal made Bucky jerk backwards—and with his left hand grabbed Bucky by the hair. “Stop it, Sergeant. It’s not Gefreiter Lange you are angry with, is it?”

Bucky subsided, slumping in Lange’s grip. Since Müller seemed to be waiting for an answer, he shook his head weakly. 

“Frankly, Sergeant Barnes, after the things I’d heard about you, I was surprised how little the lives of your Army comrades matter to you.” Müller holstered his gun and glanced back at Ingram’s body. “I would have thought you’d be willing to expend at least a moderate effort to spare a fellow soldier. It seems I was mistaken.”

Bucky rasped in a breath so he could speak. “No.”

“No, I was not mistaken?” Müller turned back to him and frowned. “Sergeant, you can see how I find that difficult to credit, considering the day’s events. You knew exactly what the consequences of your actions would be, and yet you chose not to modify your behavior.” He strode over to where the bodies lay and looked down at them, then back up at Bucky. “I am beginning to think, Sergeant, that there is truly nothing you care about more than your own comfort.”

“No,” Bucky said again. It wouldn’t be true. He would make it not true.

“Am I wrong? You are saying the lives of your fellow soldiers do matter to you?”

Bucky made himself look at the bodies, at the fresh cascade of blood seeping into the grout of the white tiles on the floor. “Yes.”

“I confess, I am skeptical.” Müller stepped towards Bucky, blocking his view of the corpses. “It is all right if you do not wish to spare them. I can see why you would develop such a selfish impulse, in your situation. You need not be ashamed to admit how little you care.”

“No.” Bucky looked up at Müller and let his hand ball up into a fist. Lange, still holding onto him, tensed.

“I can arrange one last chance, Sergeant Barnes. Only one.” Müller lowered himself to one knee to look Bucky in the eye. “It would be a more difficult challenge than what you’ve faced so far. And you understand what the consequences will be if you are unable to fully cooperate. That is what I can offer. Of course, I leave the decision to you.”

“Yes,” Bucky said immediately. He would do it, whatever it was, and he would prove that he was still the man he meant to be. Yesterday had been a fluke, today an accident. Bucky Barnes wasn’t the kind of man to let someone be killed to save his own skin. He would make Müller understand that, make him see. He tugged free of Lange’s grip, and staggered to his feet when Müller rose. “I’ll do it.”

“Good man.” Müller nodded to Lange and Fischer, who began righting their uniforms, then he settled a hand against Bucky’s nape and leaned in to speak softly. “I am counting on you to do the right thing tomorrow, Sergeant Barnes. Be the man I’ve heard so much about. Can you assure me you will behave?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. The alternative was something he couldn’t face. 

“Excellent.” Müller gave his neck a squeeze, then let go and turned to Lange. “Clean him up.”

As they marched him out of the room, Müller called, “Get some rest, Sergeant. You will need your strength tomorrow.”


	11. Chapter 11

The hours stretched long when they left Bucky alone in his cell. The movement of breath in his chest, the throb of his pulse in his veins, and his bare skin prickling in the cold air reminded him that he was alive when other men weren’t. He’d come so close to doing what he’d planned, only to fail at the last minute. They hadn’t even punished him. Better men were dead, and Bucky was left unhurt. 

He hadn’t slept in days, not since before they’d brought Thompson to his cell, but that was no excuse to let himself rest. He didn’t deserve any comforts, and he needed to stay alert to face the chance for redemption Müller had promised him. He couldn’t find the energy to pace, even if it was the surest way to ward off sleep. Instead, he leaned against the wall until he found his legs buckling under them, then slumped in the corner, shaking with exhaustion. When he found himself drifting off, he knocked his head into the stones. Each jolt of pain helped him stay awake a little longer. If he slept, he would see blood pooling across white tile, feel again the horrible satisfaction at knowing his pain was over at the expense of a life. 

He’d drifted into a half-aware, dreamlike daze when the door to his cell swung open. Surely it was too early for the daily session; the lights in the corridor were still turned low. Nevertheless, Neumann and Vogel stood waiting for him to follow. Bucky stumbled to his feet and out of the cell. 

Bucky hadn’t let himself imagine what would happen today, because he knew as soon as he began thinking about what he might need to do, his mind would supply all the ways he could fail. Better to know his role in the larger picture and deal with the specifics as they arose; that had always been what Bucky did in battle. Steve had been the strategist, the man with a plan, spangled or no. 

Still, it didn’t take a tactical genius to understand what needed to happen here. Bucky had to follow orders. He’d been doing that since he enlisted, so it shouldn’t be difficult. He would follow orders, quickly and without hesitation, and he wouldn’t allow himself to become distracted. He wouldn’t let them trick him or scare him into misbehavior. He would control himself perfectly. He would give them the reaction they wanted. All he needed to do was obey, and he would win.

In front of him, Vogel walked past the door to the white-tiled room. Bucky hesitated, looking at the closed door. 

“Do not be disappointed, Sergeant.” Neumann shoved him forward. “Today is a special occasion.”

Vogel pushed open the door to the other white-tiled room, the one where they usually took him after a session, and Bucky relaxed. He wouldn’t hesitate. Anything they asked of him today, he would do. Müller had warned him today would be different; Bucky would play his role and not deviate from the plan. 

Without prompting, Bucky stood under the shower and let them scrub him down. He didn’t flinch when Neumann slid a soapy finger into his ass, still a little sore from yesterday’s session. As they toweled him off in rough strokes, Vogel tugged at Bucky’s balls and said something Bucky didn’t catch that made Neumann laugh. 

When the straight-backed metal chair was brought in, Bucky sat down obediently. It took the doctor several minutes to unfurl the soaked bandages from his stump. He ran his fingers across the seamed scar at the bottom, and nodded to himself. Instead of wrapping it in fresh bandages as he usually did, he simply wadded the discarded cloth into a clump and put it on his cart, which he pushed briskly out of the room. Bucky craned his neck to look at the exposed stump. Its shiny pink skin looked alien, as if it should belong to some helpless, newborn animal, not to Bucky. 

As the barber stepped up, Vogel yanked Bucky’s head up to make him look straight ahead. Bucky didn’t move after that. The barber tugged a comb through his wet hair, dragging ruthlessly through the tangles until it lay flat and smooth against his head. The man’s fingers pressed against his cheek, his neck, his lip as he shaved Bucky. He hummed a tune as he worked, a steady, cheerful counterpoint to the long strokes of the razor. The towel he used to wipe the extra foam from Bucky’s face was warm. 

When he finished, he produced a hand mirror and held it up for Bucky’s inspection. Without the bandages, Bucky was completely naked. No longer in the process of healing, he sat before the mirror as the finished product of his captivity: a gaunt, ashen-faced creature with sunken eyes and a grotesque half-limb. The man he saw looked nothing like Sergeant James Barnes, fearsome member of the Howling Commandos and right-hand man to Captain America.

Over the shoulder of his reflection, Hauptmann Müller appeared. “You look perfect, Sergeant.” Müller plucked the mirror from Bucky’s hand and offered it to the barber. “That will be all, thank you.” 

As the barber packed up his things and left them, Müller guided Bucky out of the chair to stand before him. He looked Bucky over with a critical eye and nodded once. “The men have done their work well. Now, Sergeant Barnes, I want to make very certain that you are still interested in cooperating. The opportunity to save a fellow soldier’s life will not come without a cost. Are you sure it is worth doing?”

Bucky looked straight at Müller. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel fear, not now. He knew what he needed to do. “Yes.”

“I have told you today’s session will be more demanding than your usual tasks. If you would rather not—“

“No,” Bucky said quickly. He’d already cost two men their lives because of his weakness. It wouldn’t happen again. 

“With all respect, Sergeant Barnes, your previous choices have resulted in some very inconvenient results.” Müller leaned in close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I need your assurance that you will put forth your very best effort to ensure this will not happen again.”

“Yes.” Bucky heard the accusation in that, and for a moment he could smell blood again, see a body falling lifelessly to the floor. He blinked once, squeezing his eyes shut before looking back at Müller. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Sergeant Barnes.” Müller offered him a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Now, I expect you to be on your best behavior. You will need to satisfy those who wish to partake of your services and bring yourself to completion.”

“I know.” Put like that, it all sounded very easy. 

“Ah, but knowing and doing are very different, are they not, Sergeant?” Müller tilted his head to the side, and his smile thinned. “You have failed twice to—“

“I won’t fail again.”

“Show me.” From his pocket, Müller lifted the little jar of vaseline that made frequent appearances in the white-tiled room. He unscrewed the lid and held out the open jar. “Prepare yourself.”

Distantly, as if he was watching something from a newsreel, Bucky remembered the first time they’d used lube when they fucked him. He’d screamed and struggled, and he’d been taken anyway. There’d been no reason to fight; it hadn’t accomplished anything. Now he knew better; he understood what was expected of him, and he had a plan. Bucky swiped his fingers through the slick and bent awkwardly, reaching behind himself to push his fingers inside. 

Müller watched the operation with polite attentiveness. From the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Vogel and Neumann standing by the door, arms folded, looking on in silence. The wet squelch sounded obscenely loud as Bucky worked his fingers in and out. When they slid in easily past loosened muscle, Bucky straightened. 

Müller raised an eyebrow at him. “Will that be enough? You know best, of course. I only want to make certain you will be able to succeed.”

Bucky looked at the open jar, then back at Müller’s face. He recalled the agonizing stretch of Fischer pushing into him around Lange’s cock, and felt cold. Today, he couldn’t lose control and fight, or forget that he was meant to make himself enjoy what they did. He had to be perfect. Without looking at Müller, he scooped up a generous amount of vaseline and returned to fingering himself until he could twist four fingers inside in a wet, frictionless glide. 

Bucky straightened up and wiped his hand against his bare thigh. With a frown, Müller tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at the smear of slick until Bucky was clean again. “All ready?”

Bucky looked down at himself, at his naked, skinny body: the bare stump of an arm, the hand calloused from a rifle he’d never hold again, the knees where bruises had so quickly faded, the cock dangling limp between his thighs. He would have to make do with what he had. He nodded. 

“Come along.” Müller led the way out of the shower room and down the narrow hall in the opposite direction from Bucky’s cell. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, with Bucky’s bare feet and his escorts’ boots slapping against the concrete floor. The mechanical humming that usually thrummed through the facility faded behind them. It felt strange to walk so far with his ass wet and stretched. Bucky could almost imagine that Vogel, walking behind him, could see how wide open and slick he was. 

The end of the corridor widened into a square room where a black-uniformed guard sat at a paper-laden desk. He leaped to his feet and threw a hasty salute before scrambling to unlock the thick metal door set into the wall. It swung open slowly, noiselessly, to reveal not some fortified secret bunker as Bucky had expected, but a wine cellar crowded with racks of dark glass bottles. A draft swept through the open door, making Bucky shiver. 

Müller set off immediately, easing through the narrow passageway between rows with confident precision. Bucky watched until he’d almost disappeared in the dim light of the cellar, then received a prod on his shoulder from Vogel. He stepped over the threshold. The air here smelled clean and earthy, a contrast to the sterile confines of the white-tiled room with its humid miasma of fear. 

Bucky kept his arm tucked neatly to his side as he followed Müller through the cellar and into another hallway, this one cheerful with bright electric bulbs set in wall sconces and meticulously shined hardwood floors. An older woman in a black dress and white apron with her hair pinned back in a neat bun hurried by on her way to another room, but she didn’t so much as glance at Bucky. He may as well have been a pet following his master rather than a naked prisoner. Perhaps the servants were prisoners as well, too intent on their own peril to spare a thought for anyone else. Or maybe they saw so many naked captives paraded through here that the sight no longer fazed them. Bucky dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid looking at anyone else who might pass them as they walked.

Following Müller up a narrow staircase and through a swinging door, Bucky found himself blinking in a high-ceilinged foyer. Sunlight burst through the tall windows that lined the room, greenish-yellow from filtering through the trees in the garden. Beyond the neatly manicured beds of flowers was a high stone wall, and further still, towering mountains. Birds sang in the garden, cheerful as schoolchildren on an outing. It was no longer winter. 

Müller had stopped halfway across the foyer, and he turned to smile at Bucky. “Come along, Sergeant. We mustn’t be late.”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the window. He kept his eyes fixed of Müller’s back as he walked and didn’t look outside. This had to be a test; they were trying to tempt him into making a futile escape attempt. He’d seen how he looked; he knew he was no match for the men guarding him. If he ran now, he’d never get the chance to prove himself, to demonstrate that he could save someone. They’d lock him back in his cell, and he would have nothing to work for, no hope of some good coming out of what he had to do. If he gave it up his plan, he'd never win back what he'd lost so far. 

So Bucky walked, glancing neither to the right nor the left, following Müller through one opulent room after another until he stopped before a sturdy wooden door and knocked. Without waiting for an answer, Müller pushed the door open and strode in.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky followed, making it three steps in before he froze. 

The large, sun-drenched drawing room was lined with bookshelves and richly furnished. A grand piano anchored one end and a large oak desk the other. Flanking the fireplace in the center was a pair of light blue Empire couches that held four people Bucky did not recognize. The men were all in uniform—two in Hydra black and two in green with red tabs and an impressive amount of star-shaped medals: Russians. 

But Russians were Allies; they shouldn’t be meeting with Germans. Perhaps the war was over, and the Russians were here to negotiate the release of prisoners of war. No. No, that couldn’t be right. Bucky wasn’t a prisoner of war. They didn’t treat him like an enemy combatant. If anything, he was an animal Hydra had found on the side of the road, half-dead, and nursed back to health. He wasn’t significant enough to warrant a conference like this. Whatever the purpose of the meeting, it didn’t matter to Bucky; it didn’t change what he was here to do. 

The officers at the center of the room didn’t interrupt their conversation or do so much as look at Bucky. He didn’t belong here, in the midst of all this opulence, among these men discussing important matters. Perhaps they hadn’t noticed him yet. Bucky’s feet carried him backwards, but he immediately ran into Vogel’s solid chest. 

“Don’t be shy, Sergeant.” Müller returned to Bucky and curled a hand around the back of his neck to steer him into the room. When they stood next to the couches, opposite the fireplace, Müller gently pushed Bucky to his knees. “Gentlemen,” he said, interrupting the ongoing conversation. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Ah, good.” The older of the two Hydra men rose. Tall and thin, with a bristly moustache, he smiled warmly as he extended a hand towards Müller and addressed the Russians. “Hauptmann Müller’s project has made great progress.”

The Russian on the far end of the sofa, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed goatee, a bald head, and an impassive expression dragged his gaze down over Bucky’s body before looking at Müller. “Yes, your reports were most interesting.”

“Thank you, General Karpov,” Müller said as he petted a hand through Bucky’s hair. “The findings reported by your research division have likewise been intriguing.”

“You remember Dr. Fedorin.” Karpov nodded towards the man perched on the sofa beside him, round-faced and practically vibrating with excitement as he looked at Bucky. “He’s a key contributor to that research.”

“It seems extremely promising,” Müller said. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.” 

“Ah, yes.” The other Hydra officer, this one wearing spectacles and clutching a clipboard, raised a finger. “Dr. Fedorin, I wanted to ask about how you are addressing the problem of procedural memory.”

With the strangers’ attention diverted, Müller leaned down to address Bucky. “Now, are you certain you can behave yourself?”

“Yes.” Bucky looked straight ahead. Nothing Muller could say would change his mind. He’d already decided to do anything required of him.

“That is the third time you have promised me.” Muller threaded a hand through Bucky’s hair and tilted his head back to demand his attention. “I hope you are sincere, Sergeant Barnes.”

Between where Vogel and Neumann had stationed themselves, the door to the room swung open again, admitting two more guards—Graf and Lange—leading a man in an Army uniform with arms bound behind his back. Bucky’s heart thudded frantically, and he sucked in a quick breath. Finally, here was his goal, the chance Müller had promised him. If Bucky completed his task, he could save this man, as he hadn’t been able to save Thompson or Ingram. He wouldn’t fail again. 

Muller settled a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and said, “Stay here, Sergeant,” before moving to intercept the newcomer.

The man wore a lieutenant’s stripes, though his jacket was so torn and dirty Bucky couldn’t make out his unit. He had the half-starved, desperate look of a man who’d been in captivity for weeks or months: the same set expression of grim determination Bucky had seen on his friends’ faces in that factory in Austria. Blood stained the collar and sleeve of his uniform and streaked down his right leg. His face bore healing bruises and fresh cuts, and he walked stiffly, like he’d taken a beating. He’d been tortured, Bucky realized. This man must be important, valuable to Hydra somehow, if they’d gone to the trouble of torturing him. 

The man took stock of the room quickly, curling his lip at the sight of the officers. When the man’s gaze landed on him, Bucky quickly dropped his eyes, remembering his nakedness. The lieutenant looked up at Muller, who’d stopped before him with his hands folded calmly behind his back. “What the hell is this?”

“We’re having a discussion about some recently acquired intelligence.” Muller nodded to the men on the two sofas, who had continued their discussion uninterrupted by this man’s appearance. “I thought you might have something to contribute.”

“Right, I actually meant the naked cripple.” The lieutenant inclined his head towards where Bucky knelt.

“Why, Lieutenant Hansen.” Muller’s eyes widened in an imitation of surprise. “Surely you recognize the renowned sniper, the fearsome Howling Commando, Sergeant James Barnes. After all the good work he’s done for your division. You don’t know him?”

“Can’t be him.” Hansen gave Bucky a hard look, then shook his head. “No Army man I know would willingly get on his knees for you bastards.”

“And yet…” Müller’s smile practically glowed. He linked his arm around the man’s bound elbow and dragged him further into the room, with Lange and Graf in close attendance. “General Karpov, this is Lieutenant Bernard Hansen, an SSR intelligence officer. He has been a thorn in our side for quite some time.”

“It’s been my pleasure, you squid bastard.” When Hansen grinned, Bucky could see at least one of his teeth had been knocked out or pulled. There was a smear of blood at the side of his mouth. “Let me know when you’re ready for more.”

Fear lanced through Bucky. No, don’t fight, don’t struggle. The satisfaction wasn’t worth the cost. The key was to cooperate. Give them what they want, that was the only sensible choice. 

“Lieutenant,” Muller sighed. “Unless you have some information you’d like to share, I must ask you to keep your comments to yourself. We have a meeting to conduct.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some information for you. Your mother’s a dirty—“

Müller nodded to Lange, who slugged Hansen in the mouth with enough force to make him stumble back. Bucky winced, even as Hansen regained his footing and stood defiantly with his chin up. They’d never hit Bucky like that, like equals, man to man. Hansen didn’t seem surprised, however. He set his feet in a defensive stance, as if bracing for another blow. 

From his jacket pocket, Graf produced a length of cloth, with which he proceeded to gag Hansen. Some of the desperate tension seeped out of Bucky. At least gagged, Hansen couldn’t get himself into any more trouble, and Bucky would have a chance to do what needed to be done.

“Sorry for the delay, gentlemen,” Muller said as Graf wrestled Hansen into a straight-backed chair against the wall and bound him to it. “I believe that’s all the preliminaries dispensed with.”

“It’s no matter.” Karpov settled back on the couch, somehow seeming perfectly relaxed despite the military-straight posture. “Please proceed.”

Muller stepped up beside Bucky and petted his head once more. “Sergeant. Is there something you’d like to say?”

Bucky focused on the rug, soft under his knees as it spread out in patterned lines. He knew how to do this. He’d done it more times than he could count in the white-tiled room. The venue made no difference. He raised his head and looked up, fixing his eyes on the first Hydra officer who’d spoken, the one with the moustache. “How do you want me?” he asked.

The squids looked first at each other, then at Karpov. 

“You first, I insist,” Karpov said. 

The first squid looked at Bucky and cocked his head, as if considering what he wanted. “Come here, boy.”

Bucky started to crawl immediately. This would not be so difficult, if they continued to give him clear orders. At least he wasn’t expected to guess what would please them. At an impatient snap of the man’s fingers, Bucky scrambled as quickly as he could to kneel between his feet. He looked up without waiting for a further cue. “Please may I suck your cock?”

“Are you certain that is a good idea?” the officer asked. His hands rested on his thighs, giving no clues as to whether he wanted Bucky to move closer or stay where he was.

“Yes.” Bucky’s eyes cut to Müller, who raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t need to hear the words; he knew what the man would say. Hadn’t he agreed to cooperate? Hadn’t he begged for another chance? Bucky couldn’t fail so early in his task. He had to give his handlers what they wanted. “I want to. I…” He licked his lips, considering what the man might enjoy hearing. Understand the enemy, figure out what they like, give it to them. That was the plan. Wasn’t it? That didn’t seem right, somehow. 

The Hydra officer was frowning down at him. Bucky made himself speak. “I like it. I need it.” Slowly, giving the officer time to stop him if he didn’t like it, Bucky slid his hand up the inseam of the man’s uniform to rest against the front of his pants. “Please let me.”

“Oh, all right.” The officer swept his hand out, a benevolent king granting a peasant’s petition. “Go ahead.”

Bucky set to work as efficiently as possible unbuttoning the uniform pants. He got his mouth on the man’s cock as soon as it was free. Müller hadn’t said how many men Bucky would have to serve today, but no matter the number, it would be best to work as quickly as possible, leaving no chance for him to get distracted. 

“You were saying, General?” the officer said. “About your studies in operant conditioning?”

Bucky made himself ignore the conversation going on over his head. If they were deliberately trying to get him to stray from his plan and attempt to overhear intelligence rather than focus on his work, he wouldn’t fall for it. His task was to satisfy this man, and he would concentrate only on that. 

The officer hadn’t been hard when Bucky started, but with a steady application of pressure, Bucky coaxed him to the point where he was rocking shallowly into Bucky’s mouth and taking shaky breaths between sentences. Sucking cock wasn’t difficult when Bucky had control of the movement like this. He’d done it so often that it hardly seemed a challenge at all. There was nothing particularly arduous or unpleasant about this time; if this was all Bucky had to do today, he was certain to succeed. 

After only a few minutes, the officer buried his hand in Bucky’s hair and held him in place while he came down Bucky’s throat. Bucky thanked him politely, though the man gave him no indication that he’d heard, and painstakingly cleaned the man’s cock with his tongue before tucking him away and rebuttoning his pants with a minimum of fumbling. He caught Muller’s eye and received a satisfied nod.

The next man undid his fly while waiting for Bucky to shuffle over to him. There was no break in the conversation. As Bucky had suspected from the ever-present clipboard, this was apparently some sort of scientist. He asked the Soviet officers questions about estimated recovery time, nervous system integration, and manual dexterity. 

Bucky tried not to listen. He had a mission to fulfill: to figure out what this man enjoyed and provide it. Tight suction and quick movements had little effect, but when he swallowed as much as he could, smashing his face against the open vee of the man’s pants and muffling the wet noises of choking, the man grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair and held on. Bucky’s throat convulsed while he fought for air, but he forced himself not to struggle. 

At worst, he would pass out, and Müller could not blame him for that. He would regain consciousness and continue. But if he began to fight, that would mean giving up, surrendering to the temptation to resist and damn the consequences. Bucky peeked over the doctor’s thigh to meet Müller’s eye. Müller let his eyes drift over to Hansen, bound and glowering in the chair beside him, then returned his gaze to Bucky. The meaning was clear enough. 

Bucky let himself be held in place even as his lungs screamed for air and his temples throbbed. Eventually he was pulled back and allowed a few moments to gulp in air and let the dark spots fade from his vision. While he was catching his breath, he folded his fingers around the man’s cock and stroked steadily. No one could say he was stalling. Still, he didn’t allow himself as much time to recover as he might have wanted. He couldn’t take the chance that the man would get impatient and make Bucky stop in favor of finishing it himself. Bucky wasn’t certain, but he suspected Müller would count that as a failure. Bucky couldn’t let that happen. He dove back onto the scientist’s cock, only pulling back for a breath when he became truly desperate. 

Everything else in the room faded to a background buzz: the staccato churn of the conversation, the dusty scent of old books, the trickle of sweat down his naked flank. He could do this, even if it hurt. The key was not to think too hard, but simply to obey. Concentrate on the mission. Give this man what he wanted. Suck, keep his teeth covered, breathe, swallow. The man made no noise then he came, and didn’t acknowledge Bucky in any way. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed. 

With his damp fingers slipping on the buttons, Bucky took an interminably long time to tuck the man back into his pants and fasten up his fly. A look at Müller showed a raised eyebrow and a significant look at the men on the other sofa. Halfway done, then, if Müller only meant him to take on the officers. There were four guards in the room, though, men Bucky’d had before. It wouldn’t be so difficult to please them, if that’s what was required. He knew what each of them enjoyed, and he could make it quick. 

“Is he allowed on the furniture?”

Bucky turned to see Müller smiling at the young Russian officer who had addressed him. “Yes, Dr. Fedorin. He’s very well-behaved.”

Bucky looked to where Fedorin perched next to General Karpov. The man glanced at Bucky, patted the empty spot next to him at the end of the couch, then returned his attention to the conversation. 

Bucky shuffled across the rug and pulled himself up onto the sofa gracelessly. Fedorin clapped a hand over the back of Bucky’s neck, guiding him down into his lap. If luck was with him, this might be fast; using his mouth on Fedorin would be easier than fucking him, especially if they didn’t want their meeting disrupted. 

When Bucky started to fumble at the unfamiliar closure of the Russian’s uniform, Fedorin batted him away. Instead, he pushed two fingers into Bucky’s mouth. They tasted like gunmetal, and they pushed heavily on his tongue. Bucky braced his right hand against the edge of the couch to keep himself in place. If luck wasn’t with him, this might take a very long time indeed. Some of the handlers did that, when the mood struck them: prolonged their session with Bucky, trying to exhaust him so he’d make a mistake. Today, he wouldn’t fall for that. He would go on as long as he needed to. 

Fedorin idly petted Bucky with his free hand. General Karpov spoke about some kind of conductor for delivering highly localized electrical current. Perhaps some sort of weapon? No, he couldn’t listen. He needed to focus. Bucky closed his eyes and concentrated on the fingers in his mouth. There was a kind of comfort in the repetition, in knowing he was doing what Fedorin wanted. He kept sucking until the clatter of dishes broke into his consciousness, and his head jerked up to look at the source of the noise. 

A young, blonde woman in a Hydra uniform, neatly appointed in her skirt and jacket as any officer, stood arranging tea-cups and saucers at the table by the windows. She set a spoon at a precise angle on each saucer and turned the handle of the teapot parallel to the edge of the table. She did not look at Bucky, but he could imagine what she’d see if she did: a pale, scrawny shadow of a man sucking obediently on a Russian soldier’s fingers, raising his ass like an invitation. Ridiculous, obscene. His eyes slid past the woman to catch on Müller, who raised an eyebrow at him. Right. He mustn’t be caught shirking. Tearing his eyes away from the woman, Bucky laved his tongue over Fedorin’s fingers urgently, as if he was eager for more. 

With a low chuckle, Fedorin gave Bucky a final pat on the head, then unbuttoned his pants. He tugged his fingers from Bucky’s mouth and pressed his head further down. Bucky must have looked particularly absurd, ass raised high and head bowed like a dog begging for a treat. He wondered if that woman was still in the room, if she was watching him. But no, it didn’t matter what he looked like; all that mattered was doing what they wanted. He had to be perfect. 

Bucky mouthed at Fedorin’s cock through the thin fabric of his shorts. He smelled like clean laundry and soap, and just a touch of something sharp and chemical: a change from all the Germans who had used Bucky. With Fedorin’s hand heavy on the back of his head and Bucky’s hand clutching the edge of the sofa, he had to tug the fabric out of the way with his teeth, ever so gently. He tongued at the flushed skin of Fedorin’s cock as it emerged from the waistband until at last he could get his mouth around the tip and suck. Fedorin let out a contemplative hum as he scratched idly at Bucky’s head.

“Here you are, sir.” The woman’s voice, right beside them. The rug must have muffled the click of her heels, and in any case Bucky had been too preoccupied to pay her any attention. He hesitated for only a minute with his lips stretched open around the base of Fedorin’s cock, then made himself keep moving. Nothing mattered but obedience. It made no difference who saw him; he was doing what needed to be done, and he wouldn’t be distracted. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Fedorin accepted a cup and saucer. The metallic clink of a spoon against porcelain sounded rhythmic, like music. When Bucky glanced up, he saw Fedorin taking a shallow sip from a flower-patterned cup. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and returned to the task at hand. 

From the other end of the couch, Karpov sighed. “It does taste different from a samovar, you know. When you come to Moscow, we will show you how it is meant to be done.” One of the squids made some sort of reply, but Bucky didn’t listen. He had to concentrate.

Fedorin shifted the cup to his left hand so his right could rove over Bucky, exploring his naked skin. His fingers moved across Bucky’s ribs, tracing their outline, and Bucky had to struggle not to flinch. He’d forgotten he was ticklish. The touch ghosted up his right arm, across the bunched muscles of his shoulders, then down the stump and over the scar that seamed the end. 

In an effort to stop the shivers that followed Fedorin’s fingers, Bucky tried to focus instead on the ache in his jaw, the taste of salty skin on his tongue, the press of his nose against the wiry hair between the man’s legs. The handlers didn’t usually touch Bucky other than to hold him down or move him; his body was a tool, valuable only for the work it could do. There was no reason to feel anything other than the stimulation he needed to get off. Fedorin must be trying to distract him, to make him forget his mission. 

Bucky tried to ignore the light touches and concentrate on the thick cock in his mouth. Despite his determined efforts, Fedorin remained passive, not thrusting up into Bucky’s mouth or holding him down. He couldn’t tell if Fedorin was anywhere close to completion. He’d simply have to try harder. If Müller did expect him to serve all the guards in addition to these officers, Bucky couldn’t exhaust himself yet. It had been a while now since he’d slicked himself open; he had to make sure he was still loose enough when they look him, if that’s what was planned. He needed to hurry.

Fedorin’s hand smoothed down the curve of Bucky’s ass, then traced down the cleft, barely touching the slicked-up pucker of his hole. When that got no reaction, he reached further down to rub firmly over Bucky’s balls, knocking an involuntary gasp out of him that made Fedorin’s cock twitch in his mouth. There: that little loss of control gave a hint of what Fedorin wanted from him. 

The teacup rattled in its saucer as it was set down somewhere behind Bucky. Perhaps now Fedorin was paying attention. Bucky tried again, whining softly when Fedorin circled a finger around his hole and then down again to cup a hand around his sac. This time Fedorin’s other hand tensed urgently in Bucky’s hair, not holding him down, but definitely signaling his approval. 

So it wasn’t silent obedience Fedorin was looking for, but a response. That would be easy enough. Bucky could give him what he wanted. 

When Fedorin traced his hand down one leg all the way to the sole of Bucky’s foot, and up the other side, Bucky let himself squirm and whine. His sounds were muffled with his mouth full of Fedorin’s cock, but that didn’t seem to deter Fedorin. His hand returned to Bucky’s ass and kneaded the muscle there. The firm, confident touch, so different from anything Bucky had felt for weeks—months?—brought no pain. Bucky couldn’t avoid trembling under those fingers, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on the cock he’d taken into his throat. A groan rattled out of Bucky, vibrating around where he held Fedorin in his mouth. 

A tightening of Fedorin’s hands on his body and a sharp jerk upwards, and Bucky was swallowing down Fedorin’s climax, moving pliantly with the small thrusts of his hips. When Fedorin at last slumped beneath him, his hands slid off Bucky, leaving him suddenly adrift. 

Bucky pulled his mouth off Fedorin to catch his breath, and that’s when he realized the conversation had stopped. 

Slowly, he raised his head. The men were all looking at him. He’d made too much noise, drawn attention to himself. His gaze darted to Müller, who merely gave him a stern glance over the rim of his teacup. 

Bucky immediately dropped his eyes. He tumbled off the couch onto the rug, catching himself awkwardly with one hand, and hurried to put Fedorin’s clothing to rights while he muttered his thank-yous. He hadn’t meant to disrupt the meeting, but there hadn’t been any specific rules about making noise, so it wouldn’t be fair to count it as a failure. He’d satisfied Fedorin, judging from the lingering look of lax contentment on the man’s face, and that was what he’d promised to do. He was almost finished.

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his mouth before looking to General Karpov. The general regarded him with narrowed eyes. He set his teacup down on an end table as Bucky crawled towards him.

“Come here, malchik.” Bucky pushed up on his knees and let Karpov cup his chin in his hand, turning his head this way and that and giving Bucky a chance to study him. The squids deferred to this man, so he must be someone important. Obviously he didn’t consider Bucky a threat. His sidearm was within reach, there at his belt. Bucky could grab it. At this close range, even with one arm, he couldn’t miss. This was a chance to strike back, to show them—No. 

No, that wasn’t the plan. That was pride talking. They would kill him, and he wouldn’t have the chance to save Hansen. He couldn’t end this until he had a chance to balance the scales. 

“He has beautiful eyes. Expressive.” Karpov pulled Bucky closer and planted a close-mouthed kiss against his lips before shoving him away. “Lay back.” Karpov planted one booted foot against Bucky’s left shoulder and pushed until he landed on his ass. “Open up.” He nudged his boot against the inside of Bucky’s knee until he spread his legs. “Show me what you want.”

Bucky kept his eyes on Karpov as he reached between his legs and pushed three fingers into his slick hole. Karpov picked up his teacup, held it to his lips, and took a leisurely sip. Bucky could feel the weight of Hansen’s eyes on him from the chair nearby, but he did not let his focus waver. Working his fingers in and out of his ass, Bucky went as deep as he could reach. He needed to make this good for Karpov, and he needed to make his body enjoy it as well. He was still only half hard, and no one seemed inclined to give him any assistance on that front. If he wanted to succeed, he’d have to take charge of the problem himself.

“Your intelligence officer seems to be very interested in this little display.” Karpov looked from Bucky to Hansen. Bucky raised his eyes to follow that look and was met by narrowed eyes, teeth bared around the gag, and an expression so contemptuous it froze him in place. Hansen looked at Bucky as if he were the enemy. No, worse: a traitor. 

Bucky let his gaze slide past Hansen and fix on the wall beyond. It didn’t matter what Hansen thought of him; it didn’t change what Bucky had to do. He would do everything Müller required, meet every challenge, no matter how they tried to make him fail, and he would save this man’s life. Everything he’d done would be worth it if he could make this one thing right. 

“Do you want a turn, Lieutenant?” Müller scooted to the edge of his chair to give Hansen a long look. “Sergeant Barnes would gladly serve you, when he is finished with the general. He has become very skilled at taking cock. Surely you deserve a little pleasure after all the pain you have endured recently.”

Hansen snarled into his gag something that sounded like, “Fuck you.”

“Suit yourself, Lieutenant.” Müller settled back in his chair and sipped his tea. “But you are missing out.”

“Very well. We will stop teasing the lieutenant.” Karpov shoved the toe of his boot against Bucky’s ass. “Go to the desk. Present yourself. I’ll be along when I’m ready.”

Bucky tottered to his feet and over to the monstrosity of a desk. A neat row of pens sat arrayed on an ink blotter at the right corner. Papers stood in neat stacks on the left edge, held in place by metal paperweights, each in the shape of a stag. There might be something strategically important in the papers that Bucky could—No. He glanced at Hansen, who was staring pointedly straight ahead. Bucky couldn’t get distracted now, with a life on the line. He needed to stick to the plan. Leaning over, he settled his bare chest against the polished wood. From this angle, he could keep an eye on the meeting participants, so he’d know if Karpov wanted him to move. 

Between his legs, his mostly-soft cock bobbed with every movement. When Karpov took him, he’d need to remember to enjoy it. This would all be for nothing if Bucky couldn’t make himself come. Taking advantage of the privacy this position afforded, he curled his fingers around himself and began stroking up the hard-soft length. His own touch felt strange, indecent, like something he shouldn’t be doing. But he needed to try, if he had any hope of winning. 

Squeezing his eyes shut to block out distractions, Bucky worked his hand over his cock, squeezing at the head the way Werner liked it. He bounced his thumb against the slit, something that had always worked well with Günther, and felt himself growing harder. Encouraged, he trailed his fingers down the shaft, barely making contact, then down further to rub against his balls and tug at them the same way that always made Fischer moan. The touches sent arousal bubbling through him, prickly and warm at once, like the feeling of waiting for a battle to start. When he folded his hand around his cock once more, it was nice and firm, twitching as he squeezed it. 

“Are you impatient, Sergeant?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open to find Karpov standing before him, grinning. Müller stood at his shoulder, expression stern and arms crossed over his chest. 

“I…” Bucky gulped in air. “I was just preparing myself for you.”

Karpov bellowed out a laugh. “Excellent.” He stalked around the side of the desk. Now that he was on his feet, Bucky recognized the easy, confident way Karpov moved; the man was certainly a competent soldier, not an office-bound paper pusher. He snatched Bucky’s hand away from his dick and slammed it against the desk. “Now it is my turn.”

Karpov planted his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and dragged them down the length of his body, tracing the muscles of his back until they came to rest cupping his ass. “Tell me, Hauptmann Müller, has this one been a challenge for you?”

“He fought, at first.” Müller stepped closer to the desk and turned his benevolent smile on Bucky. “I find that most Americans are quite used to having things their own way. It takes time for them to admit that they are beaten.”

Karpov dug his fingers into the muscle of Bucky’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart to expose his slick hole, then kneading the muscle idly. “Eventually he gave in.”

“You will find Sergeant Barnes can be very reasonable, when given the proper motivation.” Müller rested a hand against Bucky’s cheek and stroked his thumb over the warm skin. “He understands how to make difficult choices for the greater good.”

“A valuable skill.” Karpov hooked his thumbs into Bucky’s entrance and pulled, opening him up wide. 

Bucky mashed his cheek against the desk, reflexively jerking away from Müller’s touch, and then froze. He made himself stay still as Karpov slid this thumbs in and out. He couldn’t slip up now. He’d almost gotten through it. When he risked a glance up at Müller, he received a warning glare. 

“Sergeant,” Karpov prompted. “Hauptmann Müller says you have a choice in all this. Is that true?”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off Müller. “Yes, sir.”

“You must enjoy this duty, if you have elected to serve this way.”

“Yes, sir.” A coil of shame snaked through his belly as Müller smiled down at him. But as he was—naked, hard, and spread for his enemy’s pleasure—no one could come to any other conclusion.

“I can see how well-suited you are to this.” Karpov slid both arms around Bucky’s waist to tug at his cock. It was full and plump, now, firm against Bucky’s belly. “Not every man would adapt to this use quite so fully. You are a special case.” A twist of his hand around Bucky’s cock squeezed a desperate groan out of him. “Tell me, what is it you want from me?”

This was the last thing Bucky would have to endure. Karpov would get off, and there would be enough stimulation for Bucky to finish, too. Victory was in sight. He had to keep going. “Fuck me, please.” 

“Are you certain you want that? You have been serving the Germans a long time now. Perhaps Russian cock will be too much for you.”

Müller raised an eyebrow, but Bucky wasn’t intimidated. He knew the right answer. “No, I want it.”

“On second thought, perhaps it is not such a good idea. If you have been entertaining all these Germans, who knows what kind of filth you may have picked up.” Karpov’s hands slid off of Bucky. “It is probably not worth it.” He stepped back on creaking floorboards. 

Müller turned away, looking at Hansen. His hand drifted towards his belt where the Luger waited in its holster. 

“No! No, please. I’ll make it good.” Bucky twisted to reach for Karpov while keeping his legs spread, his ass on display. “I can do it. I promise.”

Karpov raked a look over Bucky’s bared form. “It is not much of a temptation, really.”

Bucky winced. Of course, bruised up and skinny as he was, he wouldn’t be appealing. Müller’s soldiers only used him because they were assigned to the duty. Still, Bucky had managed to bluster through on charm alone back when he didn’t have two nickels to rub together. He’d stepped out with lots of girls who he’d once thought were too good to give him the time of day.

He forced on a smile, the confident one he’d always used to ask a nice young lady to the pictures. “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.” When Karpov cocked his head to the side, Bucky gestured back to the guards standing over Hansen. “They’ve had me. Ask them.”

“Well?” Karpov looked to the guards.

Lange’s gaze quickly met Müller’s and then slid over Bucky before landing on Karpov. “He’s a good fuck.”

“Tighter than a woman,” Vogel added from over by the doorway, and Neumann laughed his agreement. 

“Well.” Karpov returned his attention to Bucky, and this time his widened eyes seemed amused. “It seems you have a loyal following, Sergeant.”

Bucky spread his legs as far as he could without losing his balance. “Come on, fuck me already.”

Karpov must have already gotten his cock out—maybe he’d just been teasing Bucky, and would have fucked him no matter what—and rammed into Bucky with no warning. Without being braced, Bucky was jolted forward. His stump smacked painfully against the wood and his hips smashed against the edge of the desk. He had to push up on his toes to avoid being carried off his feet entirely. 

Even with the extensive prep Bucky had done earlier, the force and the girth made it a tight fit. Karpov didn’t seem deterred. He pulled out all the way, dragging Bucky a few inches back with him, then slammed in again, penetrating further this time. The pain knocked Bucky’s breath out of him, and he clawed at the edge of the desk to hold himself in place when Karpov pulled out again. Once more Karpov shoved into him. This time he draped himself over Bucky’s back to whisper in his ear. “Is that what you asked for, Sergeant? Is that what you like?”

“Yes,” Bucky panted. It wouldn’t be long now. The hard part was over. “Keep going.”

With a chuckle, Karpov levered upright. He gripped Bucky by the waist and held him in place while he plowed into him over and over, each time pulling out completely only to renew that same first breach. Bucky didn’t have the strength to push back or urge Karpov on. He simply clung to the desk, feeling like a piece of alley trash caught out in a summer storm. 

“You seem to be making an impression, General,” Müller said. Though Bucky could still see him standing in front of the desk, he sounded far away. “Usually he is not so quiet.”

“I told you, I have handled this type before. Come now, turn over.” He gave Bucky a stinging slap on the ass, then another on his thigh until he registered the order and floundered onto his back. Papers fluttered off the desk, and a paperweight thumped onto the thick rug. The ceiling was painted with naked cherubs peaking out from behind sunlit clouds.

Karpov hooked his arms under Bucky’s thighs and shouldered him into position: pinned helplessly and practically folded in half. From this angle, Karpov loomed high above him, a solid wall of muscle whose grip felt implacable. He sunk into Bucky’s body again, hitting new depths. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You do not have to take charge, only submit to your handler. How does it feel?”

Bucky managed only a strangled grunt. He knew he should answer more fully, but he couldn’t get in enough air with Karpov crushing into him. Bucky grabbed hold of his cock and tugged it frantically in time to Karpov’s thrusts. He’d been worked open enough, now, that Karpov’s cock slid into him easily, filling him up with a satisfying stretch. It didn’t hurt, not really, so Bucky homed in on that feeling, using it to feed his arousal. 

Bucky’s sweat-slick skin skidded across the wood, and Karpov had to drag Bucky back onto his cock. Müller stepped up behind him and braced his hands against Bucky’s shoulders to hold him in place while Karpov hammered into him. Between the two of them pressing in on him, Bucky didn’t have to worry about accidentally struggling; he could simply lie back and take it. 

It was easier than Bucky had imagined to drop into the awareness of his body and leave the rest behind: the sinking shame of knowing that these men were the enemy, the searing force of Hansen’ judgment, the lingering dread of possible failure. He was able to shove all that down under the hot bloom of arousal. Perhaps he had a special aptitude for this: letting himself be used. It seemed to come easily to him, once he stopped fighting. 

Firmly restrained between Müller’s hold and Karpov’s body, Bucky absorbed each jarring thrust and translated it into pleasure. He arched into Karpov’s cock as he touched himself, chasing the last bit of stimulation that would put him over the edge. He was so close to victory, so close to getting what he wanted.

Karpov leaned over him, his breath hot against Bucky’s cheek. “We will do such things together as you cannot imagine. I can tell you are going to be a perfect little soldier. Show me how good you can be. Come for me, Sergeant Barnes. Let me see you give in.”

Karpov folded his fingers over Bucky’s cock and stroked quickly, roughly, driving a spike of pleasure through Bucky that pinned him to the desk, tightening his body all over. He shouted as his climax escaped him and spilled over his hand where it joined Karpov’s. The ripples of pleasure reverberated as Karpov continued to pound against him. He shuddered under Müller’s hands until Karpov crashed into him a final time, emptying himself deep inside. 

Bucky gulped in air, concentrating on the small aches in his body—the pinch of too little oxygen in his lungs, the painful twinge in his ass as Karpov pulled free, the fingerprint bruises where Müller held him down—rather than see the significant looks Karpov and Müller exchanged over his head. He’d done everything they asked. He’d been perfectly obedient. He’d won.


	13. Chapter 13

“Well,” Karpov said. He wiped his hand off against Bucky’s hip before zipping up his pants. “This has been a very successful demonstration. I believe we can proceed with the arrangements for phase two.”

“It was a pleasure to see you again.” Müller extended a hand.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you, Hauptmann Müller.” After shaking Muller’s hand, Karpov stroked his fingers through Bucky’s hair where he lay limp across the desk. “We will meet again, malchik.” 

“Allow us to escort you out,” said the older Hydra officer. He stood and ushered the Russians from the room, followed by the scientist. Neumann closed the door behind them, leaving only Müller, his four guards, and Hansen. On the mantle, a clock chimed the hour.

Bucky curled onto his side. His muscles felt loose and heavy in the wake of his orgasm, but his heart was light. He’d won. He hadn’t allowed himself to be distracted from his plan, and he had accomplished what he meant to. He’d been perfectly obedient. Now Müller would have to hold up his end of the bargain, wouldn’t he? Feeling a sudden cold stab of fear, Bucky whipped around to face Müller.

Müller stood a few steps away, head tilted slightly as he regarded Bucky. “You did very well, Sergeant. I’m impressed.” He settled his hands around Bucky’s ribs to help him sit up properly, perched on the edge of the desk with his legs dangling. “Despite your assurances, I wasn’t certain you were sincere in your wish to cooperate.” 

“I did what you wanted.” His throat felt sore and his jaw ached, but his voice was steady.

“Yes, Sergeant. You obeyed perfectly. You did everything we wanted, and you let yourself enjoy it, too.” Müller’s eyes drifted down Bucky’s body to where semen coated his belly. 

Bucky scrubbed at it with his hand, but only succeeded in smearing the mess. When he looked up again, Müller had turned away. 

“Lieutenant, do you not think he did an admirable job?” Müller asked. 

Graf tugged the gag out of Hansen’s mouth and stuffed it in his pocket. 

“Yeah.” Hansen moved his jaw side to side, working out the stiffness as he glared at Bucky. “A real admirable job of whoring himself out to the enemy.”

Graf stepped over to whisper something to Lange, and they both chuckled. 

“No need to listen to him.” Müller settled onto the edge of the desk and rested his arm over Bucky’s shoulders. His touch felt warm and solid in the chill of the room. “He does not understand what you’ve been through, the choices you have had to make. This was the only smart decision, was it not, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Yes.” It had been. Bucky had done what was necessary every step of the way. If that meant he’d ended up here, sitting naked in a room full of squid Nazis while his stretched asshole leaked come onto a polished wooden desk, so be it. He had a plan. It was working. He’d beaten Müller at his own game, had called his bluff. Müller had bet Bucky wouldn’t be able to rise to the challenge, but he had. He raised his chin when he looked at Müller. “I did what I had to do.”

“You did so well.” Far from seeming perturbed by Bucky’s defiance, Müller flashed his polite smile. “Everything we expected and more. I’m proud of you, Sergeant.” He gave Bucky a quick squeeze, then let go, pushed to his feet, and strode over to drop a hand on Hansen’s shoulder. “And so, you’ve earned a choice. It is in your power to spare Lieutenant Hansen. We can have him set free.”

“Thank you.” Bucky let out the breath he’d been holding. Müller hadn’t lied. He was going to hold up his end of the bargain.

“Yes.” Müller’s smile widened. “Our operatives will release him directly to Captain America. He can deliver a full report on your condition. Your sessions have been well documented, and of course Lieutenant Hansen has seen your activities firsthand, so he should be equipped to give Captain Rogers the complete details. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”

“I’ll tell him what he needs to know,” Hansen said, but he watched Bucky with a furrowed brow.

“However, if you feel a second-hand report would be insufficient, I am happy to arrange for some visual documentation to send with Lieutenant Hansen,” Müller continued. “There are some photographs. Unteroffizier Werner has one he keeps at his desk, in fact. Very popular.” 

Bucky hadn’t known that. He didn’t remember a camera, though there had been strangers present at times, and Bucky hadn’t always been fully aware of his surroundings. He hadn’t seen the photographs, but he could imagine what they showed: him on his knees for Hydra, making himself come while letting his captors use him. 

“Perhaps we could even procure a film reel,” Müller went on, his smile brightening. “Would that be preferable? Photographs can leave out important details, but film is a more intimate medium. It is up to you, Sergeant Barnes. Say the word, and I will release this man.”

“I…” No words could get past the lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. From his perch on the desk, he could see Hansen’s eyes, wide and dark as they fixed on him. He’d seen what Bucky had done. He knew. 

“For God’s sake, Barnes—“ Hansen began, but Müller talked over him.

“It is really quite simple, Sergeant. Do you wish all of your actions to be reported to Captain Rogers? He would receive an explicit account of how you’ve decided to occupy your time since you’ve been with us. I am sure Lieutenant Hansen would give a thoroughly factual report.”

“I…” Bucky’s eyes slid away from Hansen to stare down at his own body, pale and wasted, marked with bruises that would heal in a day’s time and stained with evidence of the orgasm he’d achieved while trying his best to pleasure an enemy officer. 

“Say something,” Hansen yelled. “Speak up, dammit. What are you waiting for?” He struggled in his bonds, twisting this way and that without making any progress. “Snap out of it!”

“What would Captain Rogers think of what you have allowed to happen? Would he rush to mount a heroic rescue? Would he approve of the decisions you have made?” Müller was closer, now, his mouth to Bucky’s ear, his tone measured and hypnotically calm beneath the descant of Hansen’s shouting. The Luger was cradled in his hand. “I leave the choice to you, Sergeant. Do you want me to spare him?”

“Barnes, you spineless queer!” Hansen pulled against the ropes, rocking the chair he sat in. “Quit stalling!”

“Sergeant?” Müller asked, voice perfectly even. “Yes or no?”

“No,” Bucky breathed.

Müller lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. Hansen’s head snapped back, and then his whole body slumped forward, held up only by the rope securing him to the chair. 

He watched the body crumple and felt himself falling. Strong arms caught him as he collapsed to the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on the corpse, slack in its bonds. Gradually, as the buzzing ring in his ears subsided, he became aware of a high, thin sound—air whistling through his teeth as he sucked in breath—and firm, reassuring pressure—Müller’s hand stroking through his hair.

“There, there, soldier. You’ve done so well. That man will not bother you anymore.” Müller tightened the comforting ring of his arms, which quelled the shaking. “I am so proud of you, soldier. You did the right thing. “

“Did I?” he asked. That didn’t seem right, somehow, though he’d known, he’d known with a knife-sharp clarity a moment ago that this was the only thing to do.

“Yes. I do not lie to you, do I, soldier?”

“No.” Müller had always done what he’d said. Müller had left the choices up to him. He had made the decision on his own. 

“That’s right.” Müller placed two fingers beneath his chin to tilt his head up and look into the soldier’s eyes. “You have done so very well. Now you are ready to begin your real training.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't yet, I highly recommend checking out Melarissa's Russian translation for Nastya Blacki's amazing art and the chapter headings featuring angsty Bucky and porny gifs. Guh. http://archiveofourown.org/works/13934088
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to the dumpster denizens of the Hydra Trash Party for their encouragement as this story grew out of control. Many many thanks to trash chat for listening to me bitch and moan about this fill for weeks. I have heard rumors that someone may be tackling a post-CATWS follow-up story. So, y’know, this universe may not be completely over. Finally, if you are sad, I leave you with the last lines of [the poem](http://www.juliasroom.com/fwrighttheonly.htm) from which this story is titled:
> 
> _You gave us each in secret one thing to perceive._  
> 
> _Furless now, upright, My banished_  
>  _and experimental_  
>  _child_
> 
> _You said, though your own heart condemn you_  
> 
> _I do not condemn you._


End file.
